


From the Ashes

by Laura_Mayfair



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: 1920s, Alternate Universe, Angst, Crossover, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Jazz Age, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Redemption, Romance, Second Chances, post-New Caprica
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-26
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:38:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1848139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laura_Mayfair/pseuds/Laura_Mayfair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura Roslin and Tom Zarek crash land on the Long Island Sound during the summer of 1922.<br/>Rating:</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A very big thank you to lanalucy and newnumbertwo for their endless support (it's better than free refills!) and invaluable beta work. I am so grateful. And thank you, too, to bsg-checkin for listening to me babble about Tom and Laura and Tarot and writing on a daily basis. You all deserve cookies.
> 
> To any souls who stumble upon this quirky fic of mine -- thank you for reading.

  
****  
  
Laura and Tom were walking down the corridor when the first blast hit. She was clomping ahead of him, frustrated with the unofficial agenda the new _President_ had presented to the Quorum an hour before. They’d been at odds all morning. It wasn’t her fault that the people still deferred to her as their leader, yet the more it happened, the more defensive he became. He accused her of being controlling; she countered with an acidic barb that he was throwing a temper tantrum.  
  
“Stop behaving like a spoiled child who isn’t getting his way.”  
  
It was the last thing she said before the thundering explosion and the ensuing chaos that followed it. The floor shook with the first resounding hit and Laura flailed forward, nearly losing her balance. Tom braced himself against an anterior wall, hands clawing for purchase against the slick metal. The second blast came seconds later, and all light on _Colonial One_ vanished. Laura found herself in a dizzying abyss of pitch blackness as she fought to maintain her footing.  
  
People were screaming.  
  
The emergency lights flashed on, turning the corridors a sickly shade of red. They flickered on and off at irregular intervals. The ship tilted and this time Laura was flung backward, her head slamming into a bulkhead she couldn’t see. When the ship righted itself, she skidded across the floor and tumbled to the ground. Gray spots clouded her vision. Pain. She must have hit her head harder than she’d realized. She was face down on the floor, forehead pressed against the ground, limbs twisted at an awkward angle. She pushed up to get her face off the floor, and did it too quickly. A wave of vertigo made the room spin and she sucked in a reflexive breath. Within seconds, she was choking and gagging on the polluted smoke filling the corridor and spreading into her lungs. Tom was flat on his back beside her on the floor sputtering equally as hard for breath. She made out the blue of his tie, more purple than blue in this strange light.  
  
“We have to stay low,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. Her head continued to whirl and pound. Suddenly she remembered the emergency masks and maneuvered herself into a kneeling position as she leaned against the wall for support. She reached her hands up, feeling for a groove, searching with frantic, imprecise fingers for one of the emergency boxes. “The gas masks,” she growled at Tom. “Help me, for frak’s sake.”  
  
Laura was too focused on her task to pay further attention to her companion. If they didn’t get masks on, they’d pass out from smoke inhalation and eventually asphyxiate. Laura covered her mouth and nose with one hand in an attempt to take some semblance of a clear breath, but it made no difference, so she reverted back to using both hands to search.  She inched her outstretched hands along the wall, careful not to miss anything but still quick enough to cover as much ground as possible. Even during the few moments when the lights flashed on, her eyes were useless. The lack of oxygen disoriented her. After several more failed attempts, her fingers closed on a familiar latch. It was a little too high and she’d have to stand up to grasp it properly. She’d need leverage, too, to pull the box out once the release triggered. The air was hot and thick; her lungs burned. She clawed at the lever with the tips of her fingers when a thud of footsteps pounded the ground from behind her and Tom. She felt arms clutching her back, pressing her down. A heavy body pushed her flat against the wall. It was Tom, she realized, shielding her from being trampled by a panicked throng of terrified passengers.  
  
“Up, up,” said Laura, as her world began to sway and then shrink. She needed Tom to help her stand up, needed him to know where the latch was. The last thing she saw before unconsciousness closed around her was the light, so bright and unexpected that she was certain that the ship’s standard power had somehow kicked back on.  
  
 _Orange light._  
  
Power hadn’t been restored. The fire on the ship was spreading.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
When Tom placed the gas mask around Laura Roslin’s inert face, he wasn’t sure whether she was dead or alive. He’d gotten his own mask on first, knowing that if he didn’t, he’d be passed out beside her within another couple of minutes. Squeezing her wrist, he felt for a pulse. It was steady. The ship was already quieting down and when he dragged Laura down the hall, there were no panicked figures running now. The few people that remained conscious crawled along the floor or hobbled against an adjacent wall toward --  
  
 _Toward what?_  
  
The standard evacuation exit was blocked by the fire. He could try taking a circuitous route but there would never be enough time. And the regular evac ships wouldn’t do them any good anyhow, even if they could get to them. If _Colonial One’s_ FTL drive had been compromised by the explosion, their only hope was to find a way to make a jump. Tom only knew of one possible option. It was insane to even be considering it. But what choice did he have?  
  
They were going to die if they stayed on the ship, so Baltar’s ridiculous prototype suddenly didn’t seem like such a bad idea. If death were a probable outcome either way, Tom would rather go down fighting, would rather take a chance than passively wait for the inevitable. Using the emergency signs as guides, he made his way toward the eccentric scientist’s pet project, stepping over bodies that now lined the more well traveled passageways. None of the unmoving souls on the floor wore gas masks. The poor bastards who couldn’t get to them in time hadn’t stood a chance.  
  
 _Icarus_ was an unfinished escape pod prototype that had its own FTL drive and an auto jump functionality. Beyond that, Tom didn’t know much about it, except that when Baltar hadn’t been frakking his brains out on New Caprica, he’d been fiddling with _Icarus._ How very true to form Gaius had been -- self-preservation above all else. Whether or not the contraption would work -- as well as where the thing would take them -- remained uncertain. But Tom decided to roll the hard six. They did say that Dr. Baltar possessed one of the most brilliant minds on the Twelve Colonies.  
  
For their sakes, Tom rather hoped that the estimation about Baltar’s abilities was true. He wasn’t supposed to know the access code for the darned thing or how to initiate the jump sequence but Baltar liked to brag, especially when he had a few drinks in him. Tom was glad now that he’d made the extra effort to ply Baltar for information before the frakweasel had collaborated with the Cylons and Tom had gotten himself thrown into detention.  
  
He hauled Laura down the ramp to _Icarus_ , grateful for every mask-covered breath of oxygen that he took. The restricted area was eerily empty and the former president was still out cold. Tom kept listening for signs of life or movement from her. He was relieved when he heard the regular sound of her breathing through the tubing of the mask.The pod’s capacity was only meant to sustain two people. Ironic that he was here with Laura frakking Roslin, challenging death for the second time. He hoped that they’d be as lucky now as they had been when they’d confronted the Centurions. He knew from experience that luck only lasted so long. The odds were not in their favor.  
  
There was an earsplitting sound, a sonic boom, that reverberated throughout the ship as Tom climbed into the pod with Laura. He clumsily strapped her into her seat. She was coming to. She moaned and tilted her head toward him but her eyes remained glassy. With shaking fingers, Tom prayed to gods that he’d never really had much use for, and punched in the code to initiate the jump sequence.  
  
 _A countdown. 5.. 4... 3…2...1…_ Tom heard the hum of engines in motion. The sounds were quieter than he would have expected. The dashboard lit up, lights flashing in colors and symbols that he couldn’t read or interpret. The menacing red dots were a bad sign; that was one indicator that he _could_ read. They ascended through a tube that opened up into a port. Wide bay doors separated for them and then they were speeding through space. Out the window, Tom saw the Cylon Raiders as they skittered around _Colonial One_ like an army of devouring insects. Tom held his breath. The sound of the pod’s engines grew louder as they worked harder, revved up.  
  
For a few moments the only thing that Tom could see was the black sky, teeming with billions and billions of stars. No ship. No Cylons. in the next instant, he was looking at a planet. They must have jumped because the planet seemed to have materialized out of the thin air. Either that or he was having some kind of oxygen-starved hallucination. From his viewpoint, the friendly looking blue sphere reminded him of a toy marble, all blue and green and white. Laura saw it, too, because she leaned forward in her seat and murmured an incredulous, “Oh my gods.”  
  
 _Icarus_ was heading straight toward the unidentified planet’s atmosphere, such a smooth and easy ride that the whole thing seemed almost like a dream. Tom was tempted to take off his mask so that he could get a better view but he wasn’t so sure it would be a wise idea. He considered himself a man of varied experiences but...there was no precedent for this.  
  
“Where the frak are we?” asked Laura, her voice muffled behind her mask.  
  
“A planet,” said Tom, as if that explained everything. Clouds and night sky surrounded them as they drew closer to the land. Tom saw buildings and houses. The lights of a bridge glowed against a wide body of water that separated two points of land. Wherever they were, they were certainly not the first to arrive.  
  
Whatever Laura said next, Tom didn’t hear it because the formerly quiet engine of the pod, the engine that had been purring like a kitten, began to splutter and grind until the small ship wavered in the air like a child’s kite -- just before plummeting to the surface of the unknown planet below.  
  


* * *

  
  
Laura had only sparse seconds to brace herself for the impact. When they spiraled down to the surface, they hit the ground hard. The ship’s shock absorbers lessened the blow, but even with the sophisticated damage mitigation, Laura felt as if all the precious air given to her by the gas mask had been forcefully sucked from her lungs. Her face bumped against her mask and she cut her bottom lip on the hard surface. She tasted the metallic tang of blood. _Icarus_ had landed on its side and the odd angle amplified the dizzy pounding in her head. Tom sat next to her, half slumped over in his seat, panting. Laura could hear the irregular pattern of his breathing. It was only then that she noticed the dislodged tube of her own mask hanging limp and ineffective around her neck. With a jolt of panic she floundered to reconnect the tubing, stopping when the fuzzy realization hit her that she was not suffocating. She could breathe here.  
  
They had oxygen even though the ship’s panel lights were dark and there was no hum of cycling air. Laura ripped her mask off and took in a desperate breath. Wherever they were, it appeared they could survive the atmosphere. But where were they?  
  
Tom unclipped his seatbelt and wriggled his way out of his seat. He landed clumsily and swore when he banged his knee on the console. He removed his mask, tentatively taking in that first unassisted breath. Laura observed with bleary eyes as he took a few seconds to get his bearings, his movements slow. She couldn’t seem to find her voice and she had a strange sense of disconnection from both her body and her surroundings.  
  
“Let’s get you out of there,” said Tom as he began undoing her belt, one arm looping around her waist to support her. His grip wasn’t very strong though, because they both wound up tumbling to the floor with Laura falling on top of him.  
  
“Well, this is familiar,” said Tom, no doubt remembering when she’d landed atop his body when they’d dodged the firing squad together. He sat up, pulling her with him. When she didn’t respond to his quip, he leaned over her and tipped her face toward his. He studied her.  
  
“Laura, are you all right?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“What hurts?”  
  
She considered the question. “I cut my lip.”  
  
“What else?” asked Tom, his voice a little more urgent.  
  
Laura shrugged. “I’m not in pain.”  
  
“Frak,” said Tom. “Can you stand up….walk? No….no. Just sit.” He scrambled around the small cabin and began rifling through compartments until he found a small white metal box. An emergency kit. Laura was finding it difficult to see in the darkness but she could just make it out. When Tom shone a penlight in her eyes she winced at the sudden shock of bright light.  
  
“My head.” She grimaced.  
  
“Your head hurts?” The bastard almost sounded glad.  
  
Well _she_ wasn’t. “Yes.”  
  
“What else?” Hadn’t he asked her this before?  
  
Laura coughed. “My chest burns.”  
  
Tom took her wrist in between his fingers and pressed his thumb into her pulse point.  
  
“Pulse is a little fast but you’re steady. Just hold on, Laura.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
Laura Roslin was never this docile and, quite frankly, she was scaring the ever-living crap out of him. With the aid of a small flashlight, Tom was able to rummage through more of the ship’s supplies until he found a blanket to cover her with. He wracked his own befuddled brain to remember all of the things to do for a person in shock. If the situation were reversed, he was certain that she’d be doing a better job at managing things than he was. Of course, he’d never tell her that. But he had to give Laura her due. The lady was cool in a crisis. He never thought he’d see the day when he’d miss the demanding imperiousness of her all too willful nature, the sanctimonious sneer, the almost gleeful eagerness to point out his flaws.  
  
But he did. Or maybe he was just losing it. If he remained quiet for too long, he could see those long corridors on _Colonial One_ again and the host of motionless forms on the floor -- the orange light, the heavy heat, the smoke that smothered and choked. Tom felt a wave of claustrophobia as the small space pressed in on him. He wondered if the damaged ship was even safe.  
  
“I think we should get out of here,” said Laura, echoing his own thoughts. She spoke with the most clarity he’d seen from her since the crash. “We can’t just sit here,” she added. There was the tiniest huff of indignation in her voice. Tom would have smiled if it didn’t ache so much to do even that. He grabbed the emergency kit.  
  
“I’ll help you,” he said, reaching out his free hand to help her up.  
  
“I don’t need help,” she informed him, her voice crisp. But she did take the offered hand, and they both began the slow, painful crawl toward the exit.  
  
Tom shined the flashlight along the walls of the chamber. The ship had been badly damaged. The main hatch was bent, the metal twisted into the frame. Laura looked at the ruined hatch and then at Tom.  
  
“We’re not getting out that way,” she said. “Let’s see if we can find an emergency exit.”  
  
“The console is completely dead. Let’s hope there’s a manual release or we’re going to be like a couple of trapped rats. You want the flashlight?”  
  
“No.” She gave her head a small shake and then grimaced. “The light bothers my eyes. It won’t help me. You keep it.”  
  
Tom frowned. “You probably have a concussion, you know.”  
  
“There’s nothing to be done for it now.” She shrugged.  
  
She was right.  
  
“Tom, what is this thing? How did we —”  
  
“I’ll explain it all to you when we get out of here, all right?” _You’re not going to like it._  
  
“We don’t even know anything about the atmosphere here, the weather….we have no readouts to look at. Nothing to go by at all.”  
  
“I saw structures before we started to fall. Buildings. Lights. There’s civilization here. Did you see? You were pretty out of it.”  
  
Even in the the darkness, Tom could made out the familiar tilt of Laura’s head as she contemplated his question. It was a gesture he’d often seen her make when she was carefully considering an important issue.  
  
“It’s all fuzzy,” she admitted. Her speech was slower than usual, as if each syllable were a fragile piece of china that she had to place down with care. “Is there a communications device we should….retrieve?” She hesitated again. “Maybe some kind of auxiliary power?”  
  
“I don’t know.”  
  
Tom continued to shine the flashlight across the walls. He felt along the edges with his hands, searching for a familiar release or panel.  
  
“You don’t…. _know_?”  
  
He just wanted off _Icarus_ and he didn’t feel like arguing the point. The space around him seemed to be getting smaller and smaller by the second. “It’s a prototype. I don’t think everything was completely functioning.”  
  
“What? Oh, my gods. The Fleet — all those people -- you mean we just _left them_?“  
  
“The Fleet probably jumped. But _Colonial One_ ….” Tom didn’t want to say it. Why was she making him do this right now? “There,” he said when the beam of the flashlight illuminated the hinges of a small hatch and the red lever below it. “You’re going to have to help me. You pull; I’ll push. Not very unlike the discussion we’re having.”  
  
“I’m not leaving this ship, Tom, until we find some kind of communications device. There has to be something.”  
  
“I wouldn’t bet on it.”  
  
Laura was furious. “What were you thinking? You mean we’re stranded here?”  
  
“What the frak was I thinking? Are you serious? I was thinking about getting us out of there alive. I was thinking about not choking to death or being blown to bits. This pathetic flashlight is inadequate for looking for anything tonight. We need daylight. And you need a doctor.”  
  
“Well I mean it. I’m not leaving until we conduct a thorough inspection of this ship. How very like you to only think of -- ” Laura made an attempt to stand up. Tom watched as she winced and then faltered, her knees buckling before she was able to get up. Tom crawled over to her and began shining the flashlight across her features.  
  
“Ow!”  
  
He took her head in his hands and felt along the sides of her head and then slipped his hands into her hair, gently feeling for abrasions. On the back of her head he felt a patch of dried blood and a hard round bump.  
  
“What did you hit your head on?”  
  
“On _Colonial One_. After one of the blasts I think I --”  
  
“Stay there. I’m going to get this hatch open. You can fight with me later.”  
  
It took Tom a good fifteen minutes to work the emergency hatch open. It seemed like it was wedged against something outside. By the time it cracked open with a loud pop, Tom was sweating and his shoulder screamed in protest. He tossed the med kit and blanket out and then clambered down himself, banging his knee hard on the ground, the same one he’d banged earlier on the console. Blood soaked through his pants; he’d landed on something sharp. Tom looked around. There was a half moon above and the air was warm -- humid even. They’d landed in a dumping ground, a monochrome wasteland of scattered debris that almost seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. At least it provided some sort of cover for their ship. He wondered what the technology was like here; more importantly, he hoped the native life was friendly.  
  
He rose slowly and called to Laura. “Come on, Roslin.”  
  
Laura climbed out, tailored suit and heels and all. She descended carefully, sliding down the side of the ship on her belly. Even with a head that was obviously hurting, the lady was still able to think on her feet. Her way of getting down was a lot smarter than his ill-timed kamikaze drop. He caught Laura’s waist as she landed unsteadily, shooing him away with a dismissive huff.  
  
“There are lights up there,” said Tom, releasing her, as he pointed up a sandy embankment. “It’s steep. Do you think you can -- “  
  
Laura cut him off. “I’ll be fine. But first we should take something to prevent radiation poisoning. We don’t know what we’ve walked into here, not to mention what we might have been exposed to back on _Colonial One_.”  
  
“Good idea,” said Tom. He rooted around in the med kit and was surprised to find that there were, indeed, anti-radiation meds. He almost wished there weren’t. He hated needles. He handed Laura the flashlight with a tight grimace. “Could you?”  
  
She nodded and shined the light so that he could prep the first shot. “How are you with needles?” Tom asked her casually.  
  
Laura shrugged. “Fine.”  
  
“That’s good,” said Tom, hands shaking as he lined the shot up with his arm.  
  
“Give it to me,” Laura ordered sharply, handing him the flashlight. He exchanged the flashlight for the needle.  
  
“I’ve never been too fond of -- frak!” She jabbed his arm without warning and he flinched at the quick sting of pain. “You’re like a deranged nurse out of a bad horror movie,” complained Tom, shaking his arm.  
  
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” said Laura, lining up her own shot. “I could do this with my eyes closed.”  
  
“I guess so.” Tom was about to ask her when she’d been playing around with needles when he remembered her cancer and he thought better of it. He swallowed the question. Tom closed the med kit and tucked the blanket under his arm.  
  
“I can carry something,” said Laura.  
  
“People with concussions don’t get to carry things and those shoes of yours aren’t exactly practical. Besides, I’m not so sure I want to arm you with any kind of object after your demonstration with a syringe. You’re liable to throw it at me. You ready for this?”  
  
“Yes. Wait --- I think we should pay attention to some landmarks so that we can find our way back here.”  
  
Tom was smug. “For once, I’m one step ahead of you. The light we’re heading toward is at six’o clock from the location of the ship. And on the other side,” Tom pointed, “there’s what looks like a broken light pole. The top is bent. Unusual enough for a landmark -- around here anyway.”  
  
“Good. Because I still want to search that ship when we find out what kind of day/night cycle this place has.”  
  
Tom sighed and raised his hands in mock surrender. “If whatever lives here doesn’t eat us for breakfast, then I’ll detail the thing myself.”  
  
“You’d be sure to give anything silly enough to devour you acute indigestion, Mr. Zarek.” Laura began ambling her way toward the embankment without so much as a backward glance in his direction.  
  
Tom grinned and followed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura and Tom meet Jay Gatsby and get some much-needed rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lanalucy and newnumbertwo for the beta and the support.

It wasn’t long before Tom was out-pacing her. He was going to wind up with a crick in his neck from all of the head craning he kept doing. His mouth would open, probably to offer her an arm or some other unwanted solicitation, but as soon as he saw the resigned expression on her face, he’d push forward in silence. Laura hurt, but the pain wasn’t as bad as the nausea or the overwhelming desire to just lie down and close her eyes for a little while. She wouldn’t show weakness. Her anger was a bitter engine, propelling her to keep going. She allowed it to.  
  
They’d landed in some kind of dumping ground. The half moon above was muted by clouds that rolled in and out but it gave them enough light to pick their way through the debris. Fog covered the sooty landscape, making everything seem gray and dull in the pale light. She wondered if the rest of their world was like this, an apocalyptic wasteland on the brink of extinction. Maybe all worlds were destined for the same fate. Maybe all roads led to this.The thought made her unbearably sad.  
  
When they reached the embankment, Tom scouted for the easiest route up. Together, they scrambled up the makeshift path that he’d found, his hand gripping hers. A heavy cloud blotted out the moon and made their ascent that much more difficult. Laura’s foot skidded in the sand and she watched as one of her shoes slid down to the valley below to become just another piece of trash.  
  
The top was close. Tom let her go first so that he could support her weight, giving her added leverage to make the final push to more solid ground. He stumbled behind her, finally landing next to her with a low grunt as they both collapsed on the dusty side of a road in a battered heap.  
  
The engine of the car must have been terribly quiet. It was either that or Laura was so out of it by then that she didn’t notice the sound. It seemed as if she and Tom were panting together in the vast darkness one moment and then in the next, drenched in a light so bright it made her head swim.  
  
The pale yellow vehicle screeched to a halt a few inches from them, the purr of its engine rumbling in Laura’s ear. She could feel the warmth from the motor. Tom dragged himself up, wobbling as he got to his feet. In the light she could see just how banged up he was -- pants torn at the knee and soaked through with dried blood, a gash on his forehead, an assortment of scrapes and cuts along his arms. Laura willed her body to rise but it wouldn’t obey. The headlights were too much. She blinked against the overwhelming glare. A car door flew open and a driver burst out. Blond. Tall. Undeniably human. And when he spoke, Laura understood every word, even if the accent was a bit odd. Her inquisitive brain wondered at such an anomaly of shared language. Some kind of interplanetary evolutionary linguistic symmetry? She couldn’t even begin to guess. Or maybe the whole frakking thing was a hallucination.  
  
“My God,” said the man, “did I hit you? I was coming around the turn and you just -- “ He glanced from Tom to Laura, brow furrowed with concern. His hands were clenched at his sides and he squeezed them anxiously. His movements were jerky, as if he had five or six different things that he wanted to do all at once and his body just couldn’t decide. When he released his fists and squatted down to look at her more closely, Laura saw that his hands shook.  
  
“You didn’t hit us,” said Tom. “We had an accident. Car’s totalled. We climbed up here just as you came around the curve.” Tom turned to Laura. “Can you get up?”  
  
“Give me a hand,” she said, hating to ask Tom for anything. He pulled her to her feet.  
  
“You two are awfully banged up,” said the man with his unusual twangy accent. “I can take you to the hospital -- “  
  
“No,” said Tom and Laura in unison.  
  
“Maybe you could just drive us into town? We’re...uh….not from around here. We’ll grab a hotel room,” said Tom.  
  
The man scrutinized Laura with concern. “Ma’am, you look like you could use a doctor.”  
  
“I just need some rest,” said Laura in the same self-assured but not unkind tone that she used with her students when they asked too many questions.  
  
“I’m Jay Gatsby,” said the man as he offered Tom his hand. He tipped his hat at Laura while inclining the upper part of his body toward her in a sort of half-bow. It was a peculiar gesture but Laura read it as a deferential one.  
  
“Tom Zarek,” said Tom, shaking Jay’s hand.  
  
Laura leaned forward to offer him her own handshake. “Laura -- “ Still unsteady on her feet, she faltered. Tom steadied her and she found herself leaning into him out of necessity.  
  
“Let’s get you two in the car,” said Jay quickly.  
  
“Thank you,” said Laura. “We appreciate the ride.”  
  
“Least I can do after almost running you down.”  
  
Tom helped her into the back seat and then tumbled in beside her.  
  
As the car slid along the road, Laura willed herself not to vomit in the nice man’s automobile, an automobile that looked expensive and smelled new. With each bump in the road, each clicked stop, she pushed down the heavy nausea, not risking even a syllable. She closed her eyes.  
  
“Listen,” said Jay, “I don’t live far from here. Got a big house up in West Egg. Heck, I’ve got more rooms than I know what to do with; you and your wife would be welcome to stay with me. As long as you need to.”  
  
“Thanks,” said Tom, “That’s nice of you. Maybe just for tonight anyway.”  
  
“In the morning, I can take you down and help you retrieve what you need from your car.”  
  
“We didn’t have much,” said Tom vaguely, “and the car’s ruined. It’s not even worth it.”  
  
There was an awkward silence.  
  
“Where are you two from?” Jay asked as Laura felt the car turn. She opened her eyes for a moment and saw that they were traveling along a winding drive, better lit than the desolate place where they’d crashed. She wanted to take in the view but her stomach protested. She shut her eyes again.  
  
“The south,” offered Tom.  
  
Jay chuckled but the sound wasn’t derisive. There was something sincerely good-natured in it, like he understood them and didn’t judge the two quirky strangers who had fallen (literally) out of the sky and into his path. Another wave of nausea passed and Laura opened her eyes again just as Jay turned his head back toward them. The expression in his blue eye was benign.  
  
“I get it; no questions.”  
  
“We’re just really tired,” said Tom. “This is kind of -- a new start for us,” he improvised.  
  
Jay nodded and Laura caught a kind of wistful smile in the rear view mirror.  
  
“Well, I understand about new starts. You two okay back there? We’re almost at the house.”  
  
Tom glanced at her and there was something watchful in his expression that reminded her a little bit of the way he’d looked the night of the evacuation on New Caprica when he’d handed Jammer his gun. _Keep your eye on her. Don’t let her out of your sight._ A reciprocal gesture, she supposed. She'd taken care of him -- once. It seemed like a long time ago now, even though it really wasn't.  
  
"I’m okay." She mouthed the words to him, catching his eye in the dim light of the car.  
  
“Yeah, we’re all right,” said Tom, nodding toward Jay but continuing to look at her.  
  


* * *

  
  
Jay Gatsby wasn’t just bragging about the size and scale of his house. Of course, house wasn’t the proper term. The place was a sprawling mansion of gargantuan proportions. It reminded Tom of some of the worst of Caprican excess, ostentatious to the extreme. Acres and acres of manicured gardens and winding walkways surrounded its ridiculous bulk. There was even an ivy covered tower on one side. A _tower_ , for frak’s sake. The damned thing almost gleamed. The copious greenery of the lawn was lit up with the glow of hundreds of lights, all positioned to showcase every facet of the overall design to best advantage. It was preposterous.  
  
“Nice place,” snorted Tom.  
  
“Thanks,” said Jay as he pulled the car up to the entrance. Tom got out and limped around the back to Laura’s door. He opened it for her and helped her out.  
  
“Oh gods,” she said when she stood up. She teetered forward and Tom caught her waist. She was half doubled over when she proceeded to throw up all over the pristine stone walkway.  
  
“I’m so sorry,” she said when she finished.  
  
“Don’t worry about it,” said Jay. “You’re certainly not the first.”  
  
Tom picked her up and Laura didn’t protest. He followed Jay into a posh marble entryway that opened into the main courtyard of the house. A servant appeared to take Jay’s coat. If the old gentleman thought that his boss’ guests were in any way out of the ordinary, he schooled his features well. Jay leaned over and said something to the man in a low voice that Tom couldn’t hear. The servant nodded.  
  
“I’m afraid I don’t have any bedrooms on the first floor,” their host apologized as he inclined his head toward the stairs. “Can you make it with her?”  
  
Tom didn’t like the idea of passing Laura off to this stranger like a sack of barley but his knee was a mess and he wasn’t so sure he could carry her up the stairs without slipping. She sure as hell didn’t need any more injuries.  
  
“No,” admitted Tom, clearly unhappy about it.  
  
“I’ll take her.”  
  
Tom reluctantly released Laura into Jay Gatsby’s arms. “Careful,” he warned him. There was an edge to his tone.  
  
Laura moaned during the exchange. Her eyes fluttered open and then closed again. “I’ve got you,” said Jay reassuringly.  
  
They made a slow, careful walk up to the next floor and Jay directed them toward an enormous chamber decorated in shades of peach and cream. Occasional accents of buttery yellow added warmth to the otherwise pale color scheme. A wide window overlooked a circular rose garden and the elaborate marble fountain at its center. On the top of the fountain, a mischievous stone cupid aimed his arrow toward the bedroom window. Tom watched Jay place Laura on the large bed with excessive care, rearranging the pillows for her.  
  
He turned to Tom. “Listen, Mr. Zarek, she needs a doctor.” His voice was hushed. “I’m going to give Dr. Cobrin a call. He can come on over and check you both out. I can have him here in ten minutes, old sport. It’s no trouble. No trouble at all.”  
  
The tension in Tom’s face and shoulders lessened a little; he released a breath.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“No problem,” said Jay. “Now, there’s a bathroom right over there around that corner.” The room was so big it actually had its own hallway. “And, “ continued Jay, “there’s a phone on the desk. You’ll find a little card tucked into the blotter on the left hand side with all of the numbers you’ll need. Can I have something brought up for you to eat or drink?”  
  
“Just some water. Maybe some crackers for her.”  
  
“Bucket of ice and some glasses are right over on the end table. I’ll go make that call. Oh, I told Dennis -- my head butler, the man that greeted us at the door -- to take good care of you. You call him if you need anything. I’ll have breakfast sent up at 11:00 tomorrow morning. Give you two a chance to sleep in and get some rest. And I’ll have some clothes brought up for you, too.”  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Gatsby.” said Tom. And he really did mean it. Maybe he didn’t trust the stranger completely, but if it weren’t for him they’d probably still be wandering around on that isolated road.  
  
“‘Course. Don’t mention it.” He clapped Tom on the shoulder. “You can call me Jay. And don’t worry. Dr. Cobrin will take good care of her.”  
  
Alone with Laura, Tom stepped closer to the bed. Gently, he lifted her glasses off of her face and placed them on the nightstand. She looked less formidable without them and he was instantly reminded of their briefly shared detention cell on New Caprica, the way she’d looked leaning her head against the concrete wall, eyes closed. He watched the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest. Steady.  
  
“You asleep?” he asked. He needed to know that she was sleeping and not out cold.  
  
“Mmmmmm.”  
  
“What’s my name?”  
  
“Pain in the ass,” she mumbled, half opening one eye.  
  
Tom smiled. “Jay’s got a doctor coming.”  
  
“Mmmmmm.”  
  
“Can I get you anything?”  
  
“Dim the lights?”  
  
“You got it.”  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Tom lowered the lights and drew the curtains. He staggered into the bathroom. It was a lavish affair of cream and blue tile and gleaming silver fixtures. The enormous sunken tub could easily fit two people. The double-wide closet was chock-full of large fluffy towels. Two pristine terry cloth robes hung on wide hooks. He washed his hands with lavender-scented swan-shaped soap and dried them on a hand towel that was so luxuriously soft he almost wanted to bury his face in it just to feel more of the wondrous fabric against his skin.  
  
There was a knock on the door of the suite; it was the butler. He wheeled a large trolley, the kind wielded by bellhops at posh hotels.  
  
“May I come in, sir?”  
  
“Sure,” said Tom. “Thanks.”  
  
Tom watched as the man -- Dennis -- unloaded a veritable department store’s worth of clothing into the closet. The items were either completely new or had been recently dry cleaned. They were still covered in plastic. Suits and dresses, shoes and pajamas, a nightgown and peignoir set, slacks, skirts, shirts - anything and everything anyone could possibly need or imagine. After unloading the clothing, Dennis brought in a tea tray with small finger sandwiches, lemon squares, and a few small packets containing the crackers Tom had requested. And besides the hot tea, there was also a pitcher of iced tea and a small bowl of fresh lemons, mint leaves, and honey.  
  
“Do ring me, Mr. Zarek, if you need anything,” said the butler with a kindly smile. He began to wheel the trolley out, but suddenly paused at the door. “Dr. Cobrin is here, sir.”  
  
“Thanks. Send him in,” said Tom.  
  
“Aren’t you a sight?” said the doctor as he greeted Tom. “Mr. Zarek?”  
  
“Yes. You can just call me Tom.” He eyed the doctor warily.  
  
“Dr. Cobrin.” The doctor gave Tom’s hand a quick shake. He was a tall white-haired gentleman with cornflower blue eyes and a pleasant countenance. “Mr. Gatsby said that I should look at the lady -- “ The doctor spoke as he walked briskly into the bedroom carrying his large black bag. -- “ah, there she is.” He placed his bag on the bed beside Laura and reached for her wrist, taking her pulse. “You’re her husband?”  
  
“Uh….yeah.” Tom shuffled his feet. He was afraid the man would make him leave if he said otherwise and he didn’t relish the idea of leaving Laura alone with this stranger, doctor or no.  
  
Dr. Cobrin touched Laura’s brow. “Mrs. Zarek?”  
  
Laura opened her eyes and shot Tom an accusatory look but she didn’t correct the doctor. “Laura,” she croaked.  
  
“Hello, Laura. I’m Dr. Cobrin and I’m going to take care of you. How are you feeling?”  
  
Tom watched the man pull out a stethoscope - a peculiar looking model - and slide it under Laura’s blouse.  
  
Laura sounded so tired. Her voice had the diluted quality of watered down paint. Thin. “My head hurts. Dizzy. Nausea that comes and goes. I feel…..heavy. Sluggish.”  
  
“Deep breath,” said the doctor. “Very good. Did you hit your head?”  
  
“Yes. The back of it.”  
  
The doctor helped Laura sit up a bit so he could inspect the bump at the back of her head. “Did you lose consciousness?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Dr. Cobrin frowned. “How long?”  
  
Laura looked to Tom, uncertain.  
  
“She was in and out. Maybe five minutes altogether.” Tom couldn’t be sure. He wanted to tell the doctor about the smoke inhalation and the toxic fumes from the burning ship but how could he explain that?  
  
Dr. Cobrin lifted Laura’s chin up and looked closely at her eyes. “Do you remember what happened before the accident?”  
  
“Yes,” said Laura. “We were having a serious discussion.”  
  
“Do you remember what it was about?”  
  
“Oh, about…responsibilities. Politics.”  
  
Dr. Cobrin nodded and smiled. He seemed almost amused by their topic of conversation. “And you remember the accident?”  
  
Laura shuddered. “Yes.”  
  
“You’re lucid. Memory seems to be intact. But it’s pretty clear you have a concussion. Best thing for you is going to be rest.” He turned to Tom. “I want you to call me immediately if there’s any sign that she’s disoriented.”  
  
“All right,” said Tom.  
  
The doctor checked Laura for fractures and broken bones and he treated her deeper cuts. “I’m going to give you something for the pain and the nausea, Laura. And I expect absolute bed rest until I give you the all clear. I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow afternoon.”  
  
He turned to Tom. “Let’s have a look at you, shall we?”  
  
Tom allowed the doctor to stitch his knee up but he refused to have his cuts and scrapes treated with antiseptic, barely tolerating the doctor using it to clean his knee. The smell reminded him of cleaning products, of bleach and ammonia, of powdered tile cleaner. Of prison. It was rank with the stench of long dead memories he’d prefer not to resurrect. He almost couldn’t stomach it.  
  
After the doctor left, Tom managed to clean up and change his clothes. He flopped down on the far side of the mattress, giving Laura a wide berth. She stirred only once, making a clumsy trip to the bathroom and then hobbling back to bed.  
  
“Jay left us some clothes,” said Tom. “You want me to bring you something to change into to sleep?”  
  
“I’ll get it,” said Laura, sitting back up slowly. She looked woozy as she painstakingly made her way to the closet. "How are you feeling?" she asked him.  
  
“I'll live. You know,” said Tom with a ferocity that he couldn’t quite account for, “you’re supposed to stay in bed.” If she was hell bent on exacerbating her injuries, why should he care?  
  
“Mmmmm, well you’re supposed to care about your people. Supposed to and reality don’t always match up.” She unwrapped a long turquoise silk nightgown from its plastic. “Could you turn around please?”  
  
Tom rolled over. Neither spoke. He listened to the soft sounds of clothing being removed and then put on. He heard her pad unsteadily back to bed and he felt the slight dip of the mattress as she slipped under the covers beside him, keeping to her own side. There was a wide distance between them.  
  
He wanted sleep to be numbing and all encompassing. It wasn’t. He dreamt of smoke and falling and ashes.  
  
And water, always water.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Laura begin the process of healing after the crash. Physical wounds heal more quickly than other wounds -- as memories from New Caprica and other losses re-surface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lanalucy and newnumbertwo for beta and support.
> 
> WARNING: This chapter includes a brief description of torture.

Laura’s body demanded rest even while her mind raced. The urge to sleep was an overwhelmingly physical one but the deep slumber she needed only came in short intervals. She lapsed repeatedly from sleep into consciousness, always waking with the sickening sensation of falling. She wasn’t sure where she was either. Sometimes she believed she was back on New Caprica, jostled out of bed by Tory alerting her to yet another mysterious disappearance. Other times she believed she was in detention again, head pressed against the wall with her knees curled to her chest -- waiting. Or lying in sickbay, dazed and sick from the medication Dr. Cottle administered to help her fight her cancer before Baltar’s miracle cure.

Laura’s head hurt but the questions still kept coming. _What had happened to_ Colonial One _? The Fleet? Do they know I survived? Is there any possible way to communicate with them? Is this place Earth?_ The _Earth? And if it is, what does it all mean?_   Passages from the sacred scrolls darted through her splintered thoughts. She murmured the familiar lines during intermittent rounds of sleep, grasping for answers that were always too far beyond her reach.

She dreamt about the crash again and woke with a jolt as she gasped for breath. It was past noon but the room was dim with the heavy curtains drawn tight. Tom slept. Sleep softened the more angular lines of his face, smoothing out the furrowed creases. She felt her fiery anger toward him flicker and then sputter. He’d saved her life yesterday. They weren’t exactly friends, not given their history, and certainly not with him trying to hold onto power -- but the shadow of a common enemy and the pain of New Caprica had forged a peculiar alliance between them. She lived. _They_ lived. And the lives of 41,133 people hung in the balance because of it.

She slipped out of bed and staggered to the bathroom. The hammering in her head had lessened but her body ached even more today than it had yesterday. Maybe her massive headache had simply overshadowed her other injuries, mostly cuts and strained muscles. She’d heal. A shower was a tempting prospect but she didn’t trust her balance yet so she settled for a thorough sponge bath and fresh clothes. She chose a cream colored summer dress with a ruffled neckline, pale blue sash, and empire waist. All of the clothes seemed so formal. Didn’t women on this planet wear pants? Laura couldn’t find even one pair of slacks in the closet.

When she returned to the bedroom, Tom was sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing his face. She poured a glass of iced tea for herself and one for him, glad she’d skipped the shower for now. Her coordination was still shaky.

“Good morning,” said Laura, as she placed Tom’s glass on the bedside table on his side of the bed. She wasn’t exactly sure if she meant it as a peace offering.

“Morning,” he mumbled, without looking at her; she could see he was still waking up. He glanced at the glass of iced tea -- well, cool tea anyway. The iced cubes had melted a long time ago. “Thanks.” He took a swig.

“I want to talk to you,” said Laura, lowering herself carefully into the chair across from the bed. “I have a lot of questions about that contraption that stranded us here.”

“That _contraption_ saved your ass.”

“Mmmmm, and yours, too.”

Tom’s gaze was steady. The former grogginess evaporated as he focused his full attention on her. He set the glass down. Hard. “Yes, it did. What do you want to know?”

“Everything you can tell me about that pod and how it got us here. And _where_ we are.”

“The escape pod was a prototype Baltar modified while we were on New Caprica. A two person evacuation ship that could operate on autopilot. He called it _Icarus_. I got the impression it was something he’d been working on during Adar’s term but hadn’t finished.”

Laura frowned. Richard had never mentioned such a project to her but knew he hadn’t always told her everything. And it was true he’d been friendly with the eccentric scientist. “Baltar never said a word about it.”

Tom expelled a puff of air. “And that surprises you?”

“No. It doesn’t.” said Laura wryly. “You didn’t say anything about it either, in any of our post exodus meetings.”

“You think I was withholding information?” Tom’s eyes widened. “It was a crackpot project. It was Baltar for frak’s sake. I didn’t even know if the damned thing was fully functional. Baltar’s toy was the last thing on my mind after we escaped that hell hole.”

She tried to keep her tone neutral.“But you took it anyway, not knowing whether or not it would work -- or where it would take us?”

“You really did hit your head pretty hard, didn’t you? I didn’t have time to think about anything. _Colonial One_ was going down.” He raised his voice, waving a frustrated hand in the air. “I could barely see anything through all the smoke. When I dragged you through those corridors I wasn’t even sure if you were going to make it. There was no standard procedure to follow. No security. No direction. People couldn’t get to masks. The ship was on fire. I was sure we were going to die.” Tom made a choking sound. “Laura, there were already bodies lining the floor and it was only a matter of minutes. So yeah...I grabbed you. I put you in the pod, initiated the evacuation sequence, and we crashed here. As to where we are...I don’t know. The ship wasn’t supposed to land anywhere. It was supposed to jump to a random location and then send a distress signal back to the fleet but not all at once -- in bits and pieces of code. There were supposed to be enough supplies available to sustain two people for up to eight weeks, until a safe recovery could be made. This was all theoretical. I took a chance, made a try for it. I’m just as baffled by the whole thing as you are. Except for one crucial difference.”

Laura arched a questioning eyebrow at him as she processed all of the information.

“I’m glad to be alive,” said Tom quietly.

“What does that -- you think I’m not?”

“You seem awfully bitter about the whole thing.”

Laura gave a brittle laugh. “We abandoned all of those people - people who are probably all gone now. I’m not exactly feeling celebratory.”

“I’m not happy about it. And I’m never going to forget -- “ Tom swallowed. “--- what I saw. But would going down with _Colonial One_ have saved anyone?” He searched her face for an answer -- an answer that she didn't have.

“No, but it might have given us a small shred of integrity,” answered Laura coldly.

Tom stood up. “Are you saying what I did was cowardly? I was just watching out for myself? I’m like -- Baltar?”

Laura rose, too, and the tension in the air intensified. She took a breath. But before she could answer him, the telephone on the desk rang. She watched as he stomped over to the receiver and picked it up.

“Yeah?” he said, not bothering with any pretense of politeness. He turned so he was no longer facing her. She could see the anger in his coiled body, the tightness in his shoulders.. His voice was colorless. “That’s fine. Thanks.” Tom hung up the phone. “Dennis is going to bring up breakfast and Dr. Cobrin wants to come up to see you.” He didn’t turn around. Instead, he walked to the closet and roughly grabbed some clothes off of hangers. “And I’m going for a walk.”

 

* * *

 

Tom knew he must look ridiculous as he clambered down the long staircase in the baggy, ill-fitting suit. He’d grabbed the first thing his hands touched and hadn’t bothered to try on anything else. It was already bad enough having to wear another man’s underwear and now he also needed to continuously hike up the waistband of his pants. Scratchy pants no less. His body ached. His head throbbed. He’d barely run a comb through his hair. And Laura Roslin wanted to lay a guilt trip on him for getting them off the ship the Cylons were using for missile fodder -- all before he’d even managed to fully get out of bed.

Servants gave him odd looks as he stalked out the front door. But when he stepped into the early afternoon air, Tom stopped. It was a dazzlingly clear summer day. Gatsby’s place was sure different from the dreary dump where they’d crash-landed. Tom took in a slow breath, savoring the way the fresh air inflated his lungs. Whatever world this was, it was beautiful. They’d never had weather like this on New Caprica, never this warm, and never so heart-wrenchingly bright. Tom blinked; the light was probably exacerbating his headache but he wanted to bask in it anyway.

Gatsby’s lavish house was as gaudy in the daylight as it had been when he’d seen it last night but somehow less offensive, maybe because he wasn’t as preoccupied with the architecture but was more focused on the natural landscape instead. The wide grounds were extensive. Although every step he traveled ripped at his knee, Tom kept on, finally sinking down on a more remote area of shaded grass under a cluster of trees. He seemed to be approaching the edge of the property line and the greenery was less cultivated here, more wild. Tom laid back into the grass, tucking his hands behind his head, and gazed up at the sky.

There’d been more ease between him and Laura up until the exodus, not that his relationship with her had ever really been “easy.” She seemed to have forgiven him for supporting Baltar, or at least had put her feelings aside. In detention they’d found common ground, even if it had come at a price.

 _At first the Cylons seem content to knock him around a little, nothing he can’t handle, nothing that hasn’t happened to him in prison. Most of the time they keep him in a cell, by himself. Fed. Clothed. A daily shower. Regulated trips to the bathroom. He’s their prisoner poster boy for a while. Doral takes his picture._ See? We’re not harming our human prisoners. We just want cooperation. Peace. God’s plan.

_It remains largely uneventful until the night he winds up in Laura Roslin’s tiny cell, sputtering, shivering, and drenched in icy cold water with his waterlogged clothes sticking to him. He suspects the Cylons do it as a kind of demonstration to intimidate the former president. Propaganda for pictures or an example of what they could do to Laura, he is just an instrument for them to control. They all are. He is all too familiar with the nature of captivity._

_It’s Doral who does the thing with the water, Doral who delivers him to Laura. When he’s shoved into the cell, his eyes ache so much she’s just a blur of beige uniform and red hair, only he doesn’t make sense of the distorted image until he hears her familiar voice. He hasn’t seen another human being -- besides Gaius -- for weeks, and the last time he saw Laura was before the Cylons picked him up for “deliberate insurgency.” What kind of insurgency isn’t deliberate?_

_“Tom....” Laura sounds surprised to see him. There is heavy dismay in her voice, too, but she manages to keep pity out of it. He’s grateful for that._

_She moves toward him and he feels her hands stroke his face. She’s never touched him before, except for the cheek kisses she offered to impress the media on Colonial Day, and a few handshakes. But imprisonment has a way of dissolving boundaries. Tom staggers and she places her hands on his shoulders, grounding him._

_“Wait.” Her tone carries an edge to it, a cold and certain confidence she is going to get what she asks for. “Could I have a blanket? Please.” Tom realizes she’s talking to Doral, not to him. He hears the Cylon’s footsteps retreat as he departs without making any promises. Bastard._

_“Tom, you’re freezing,” says Laura. She captures one of his numb hands in both of hers._

_He wipes his runny nose ineffectually against his soaked sleeve, coughing and then gagging into the fabric. His lungs burn. He rubs his damp eyes and the action clears his vision a little, bringing Laura into focus. He tries to talk but lapses instead into another fit of gurgling and choking. His body heaves and he ejects what he hopes is the last of the water -- all over the concrete floor._

_“Don’t try to talk.” Laura rubs his back. Tom hears the door of her cell clang open and watches as Doral chucks a dingy mustard colored blanket at her. He listens to her mumbled thank you and decides it sounds far more like a snarl. She snatches the blanket off of the floor._

_“Tom,” murmurs Laura, her voice softer than he’s ever heard it when she’s addressed him in the past. “I’d like to get you out of your clothes and into this blanket. Can I do that?” Her hand rests against his arm. She wrinkles her nose. “It smells like mold but at least it’s dry.” She gives a light laugh and Tom appreciates her attempt at levity -- at normalcy. “Just nod when you’re ready and I’ll take care of you.”_

_He sucks in a few more shaky breaths and then nods his head at her. Her soothing tone must be the kind of voice she uses with her students when they scrape a knee or fret over a test grade. It’s a different kind of power she wields here, different than what he’s used to seeing her command, but no less spectacular. Nurturing, protective, comforting….fierce. He feels like one of her people. He feels like someone who matters. She works at his buttons and he watches her fingers move with quick precision. Her resolute control steadies his frayed nerves, gives him strength._

_“If you’d wanted to get me out of my clothes so badly,” Tom finally manages through chattering teeth as she peels his pants off, “all you had to do was -- ask.” His ravaged throat hurts and his voice is raspy but he needs to talk. He flinches when he swallows._

_“I figured it was time I got you back for putting us up in that meat freezer,” she teases. “Turn around, would you?”_

_He turns. He expects her to immediately wrap him up in the blanket but she doesn’t. He almost gets a little bit annoyed that he’s standing here shivering in his underwear. But when he feels her bare skin press against the back of his body, he understands the reason for the delay. She pulls him closer._

_“Sit,” orders Laura gently, as she eases them both down so she’s leaning against the back wall of the cell. She wraps the blanket around his front, forming a cocoon so he’s snug between the blanket and her._

_“It d-d-does smell.”_

_“Lean back,” says Laura._

_And he does. She rubs his arms and legs. There is nothing sensual about it. Just kindness. He is thankful for the warmth she gives so freely. Soon his chills taper off as the heat from Laura seeps into him and he suddenly feels bone-weary and limp._

_“Do you want to talk about it?” Laura asks. Her fingertips brush his temple as she smoothes his hair._

_“No.” Tom tenses. He doesn’t want to talk about it. He wants to forget about the whole thing, about the tube they shoved into his mouth, down his throat, and the water…..so much water gushing into his lungs, cutting off vital oxygen. Too many hands holding him down, each pair belonging to the same face._

_They never even asked a single question._

_Laura senses his distress because she nestles closer and whispers words of comfort, bringing him out of the underworld of memory. “I fell through the ice once,” she tells him candidly._

_“Yeah?”_

_“Mmmm. Skating on a pond with my dad. Spring thaw came a little early. My father was so quick. He pulled me out before my head even went under.”_

_“Did you ever skate again?” She combs her fingers through his hair. He can’t remember the last time anyone touched him like this. He gives a ragged sigh and closes his eyes._

_“Yes,” says Laura. “I did the following winter. I just needed a little time.”_

_“It’s good to have somebody there to pull you out.” His voice is fading._

_“Yes,” she agrees, “it is.”_

The angle of the sun was brighter now and sharp pinpoints of light poked through the shade of the swaying tree branches. Tom sat up, shading his eyes from the glare. He and Laura didn’t talk about detention. They’d had one conversation about it after fleeing New Caprica, when Laura asked him if the Cylons had hurt him again. They hadn’t. She claimed they hadn’t physically harmed her during the two days she’d been held. He wasn’t so sure she’d tell him even if they had -- but he didn’t press her.

He wondered now if that’s why he’d thrust his gun into the palm of Jammer’s hand during the evacuation, why it had been so important to get her off of that burning ship, and why -- whether or not they were at odds -- he’d still do it all over again.

Maybe this time it was simply his turn to pull her out of the abyss.

* * *

 

Laura offered Dr. Cobrin some breakfast on his way out; there was more than enough food there to share. She knew she and Tom would never eat it all and it seemed like such a travesty to waste any of it. He wrapped a danish in a napkin and took a banana, placing them both in his black bag.

“You need to continue to rest. I don’t know you, Mrs. Zarek, but you don’t seem like the resting type. A concussion is nothing to play with.”

“I’ll take it easy.” Laura almost smiled. His manner was softer than Cottle’s but in that moment he reminded her of him.

“I left some clean bandages and some ointment for your husband. He should change the dressing twice a day. I left instructions. Here’s my card. Call me if if you need anything. Mr. Gatsby is taking care of the bill.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” She showed him out.

Laura still didn’t want to eat anything. All this food and her stomach felt like someone was squeezing it with a vise. She picked up one of the packets of saltines Tom had requested for her the previous night, opened it, and took a disinterested bite. It was thoughtful of him to think of the crackers. It’s the kind of thing Billy would have done.

The chewed cracker felt like thick wet plaster in her mouth. She crumpled up the packaging and remaining uneaten crackers, crushing them in her tightened fist. The sobbing came next and she hated herself for it.

 _Billy. At least he hadn’t had to live through the horrors of New Caprica, through that terrible attack on_ Colonial One. _Through the kinds of things the Cylons had done to Saul Tigh…. to Tom Zarek. So many people gone and there didn’t seem to be any end to it._

She wondered what number she’d have to subtract from her count now. Laura buried her face in her hands, muffling the sounds she made. It had been a long time since she’d cried like this, shaking shoulders and soaked cheeks. A solid ache settled into her midsection and crept up into her throat. A faint knock on the door startled her into sudden silence. She didn’t want Tom to see her like this.

“Just a minute,” she called, not quite able to keep the distress out of her voice.

She rushed to the bathroom and searched for a box of tissues without finding any. So many amenities and not a tissue in sight. She quickly wiped her wet face with toilet paper instead and splashed cold water on her cheeks. She patted herself dry.

She took a slow breath in through her nose and then released it. “Come in,” she called.

Laura was relieved when one of Gatsby’s staff entered instead of Tom.

“I just came in to clear the breakfast dishes.” She was a young woman with auburn hair and big brown eyes. Her inflection was different than Jay’s.

“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’m Laura Ros--. Zarek.” _Well, that’s an entirely unnatural statement._

“My name’s Fiona. Mr. Gatsby asked me if it’s okay for him to stop in when I finish?”

“Yes,” said Laura. “Of course. Is it all right if I take something for Mr. Zarek? He went for a walk and missed his breakfast.”

“Oh! I can come back later.”

“No,” said Laura, wrapping up what she believed was a banana walnut muffin. She felt terrible about their wasted meal. “Would you like to sit down and have something? There’s so much here.”

The woman shifted from one foot to the other. “Oh. No, thank you. Maybe another time.” She packed everything up, looking a bit flustered when Laura helped. She paused at the doorway. “Mr. Gatsby will be up shortly. Good afternoon, ma’am.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Laura get more acquainted with Jay Gatsby and West Egg. One of the biggest challenges they continue to face...is one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to lanalucy and newnumbertwo for meticulous beta work and indispensable inspiration.

Jay Gatsby entered Laura’s suite and looked around the room as if he’d never seen it before. He beamed. “You know, counting last night, I think this is only the third time I’ve ever been inside this room?”  
  
The comment would seem pretentious if uttered by another type of man but there was something in Jay’s earnest blue eyes that made Laura believe that there wasn’t an ounce of vanity in it. She surveyed the room along with him, appreciating its beauty and its warmth.  
  
Laura smiled. “It’s lovely. I guess you didn’t have anything to do with the decor then?”  
  
“I’m afraid I can’t take any credit, no.”  
  
“But the house is new, isn’t it?” Laura motioned to the creamy yellow linen tufted settee. “Please sit.”  
  
“Less than two years old.” He sighed. “Sure does seem like I’ve been here much longer though.”  
  
Laura settled down across from him. She wondered what in the world could make Jay Gatsby, with his youth and his wealth, and with a life that sprawled out in front of him with seemingly endless possibility -- seem almost wistful.  
  
“Jay, thank you so much for everything that you’ve done for Tom and me. There’s no possible way I can express to you how much we appreciate it. We’re new to the area but we’ll look for employment and --”  
  
“No, no, no, no.” He shook his head vehemently at her. “Mrs. Zarek -- Laura. I don’t want anything. Stay for the summer as my guests. Get on your feet. It would actually be refreshing to have some folks around who are here by express invitation.” He chuckled. "Please. You bring some class to the place. I do have to ask though -- and I hope you’ll forgive me for being so forward.” He shifted uncomfortably. “You and Tom aren’t in any trouble, are you, with the law I mean?”  
  
“No,” said Laura. “Nothing like that.”  
  
Jay released a breath. “I didn’t think so. And I’m sorry for asking.”  
  
“You have a right to inquire about the people you’re opening up your home to,” said Laura. “Our situation is….complicated.”  
  
Jay slipped a smooth hand inside the front pocket of his pinstripe suit and pulled out a small gold case. “Do you smoke?”  
  
“No. Thank you.”  
  
“You don’t mind if -- ?”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
Jay rose and retrieved an ashtray from the desk drawer that looked like it had never been used. He sat back down. “You don’t have to explain. I think I get it.”  
  
Laura leaned forward a little, curious. “Oh?”  
  
“Well, Laura, I’ll be the first one to admit that I think divorce should be easier. Sometimes things just don’t work out for -- lots of reasons. You and Tom aren’t wearing any wedding rings. In the car yesterday, he mentioned a new start for you two so I just kind of thought that well -- maybe your husband wouldn’t grant you a divorce so you picked up and started fresh. Look, I don’t fault you for it. Lots of folks in your predicament. And it’s always harder on the lady, I think.”  
  
Laura relaxed. Although she wondered what kind of a place had such odd customs regarding the dissolution of marriage, she wasn’t about to contradict what appeared to be a plausible explanation for her and Tom showing up in the middle of the night. If a clandestine love affair did the trick, then so be it.  
  
“You’re right,” she said, feeling somewhat guilty about lying to Mr. Gatsby. But really -- she could never tell him the truth about where she and Tom had come from. From the little she’d seen of this planet, she doubted that these people possessed the kind of technology that would make their arrival anything but extraordinary. And she didn’t want to be extraordinary; she wanted to blend.  
  
“Hey, don’t worry. your secret is completely safe with me.” Jay offered her another artless smile and there was nothing but kind reassurance in his eyes. He put a hand over the center of his chest. “Cross my heart.”  
  
Laura nodded because the right words were caught in her throat. She was much more used to being hunted than helped. Fleeing had become an ingrained reflex. Since the attacks, when was there a time that she wasn’t forced to run? But sanctuary -- this was new. For the second time in the space of a few hours, she felt the familiar prickle of oncoming tears. She swallowed. “Thank you.”  
  
Jay looked away for a moment and she was grateful for the small reprieve he was giving her to recover her composure. He brushed invisible lint off of his pants and cleared his throat. “How are you feeling today? I should have asked you that first thing.”  
  
“Better. Dr. Cobrin has been wonderful.”  
  
“And Tom?”  
  
“Tom’s improving, too. He went for a walk. He’ll be back shortly.”  
  
“Look, if there’s anything else that you two need…”  
  
Laura reached out and patted his hand. “You’re a gem, do you know that? I wonder if -- do you have any books? A newspaper?”  
  
Jay grinned. “Well, that’s way too easy. Come on.” He stood up and offered her his arm. “Are you up for a little walk? It’s downstairs….”  
  
Laura accepted his arm and fell into step beside him. “If we go slow.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Jay assisted Laura down the stairs and led her to what appeared to be a deceptively small study with polished mahogany walls. As she stepped in a little further, she observed how the entryway opened up as she turned the corner. The room was actually quite large -- and it was filled wall to wall with books. In contrast to the suite she shared with Tom, with its softly feminine color scheme, this room was lush with earth tones. The furniture was a rich brown leather. Two moss green loveseats were neatly arranged at perpendicular angles by a round table. Amber colored pillows with small tassels accented the deep green. The floor length windows gave the room plenty of light, offsetting the darkness of the wood.  
  
“You know,” said Jay, “I think you’re the first guest who’s actually asked to see the library. People usually only stumble into this room by accident. You’re a reader?” He watched as Laura pulled a book from the shelf and opened it up.  
  
“Yes, I love to read. I was a teacher." Laura smoothed the crisp pages with reverent fingertips. She had always enjoyed the distinct scent of a new book, fresh ink and clean paper. This one puzzled her a little though. She was surprised and pleased to discover that she could glean the gist of the text but she’d never seen pages like this before. They were folded over and connected, two by two. She decided that it must be a printing defect.  
  
“Oh,” said Jay. His tone was apologetic. “I didn’t have all of the pages separated.” He looked embarrassed. “Break in whatever you like.” He opened a desk drawer and produced a pair of scissors. She watched him as he carefully cut a few pages of the book, severing the connected ones and making each page individual. “I guess I haven’t read ‘em all,” he said sheepishly.  
  
“Well,” said Laura, “there are an awful lot of books here for one person.” It dawned on her that the uncut pages must indicate that the books had never been read. She wondered why Jay looked so chagrined about it. She placed a hand over her heart the way he had done earlier. “Your secret is safe with me." Her lips tilted upward into a slow smile.  
  
“Thanks, Laura.” Jay visibly relaxed and he grinned back at her with conspiratory glee. “Virginia? It’s gotta be.”  
  
Laura didn’t have the foggiest idea what he’d just said. “I’m sorry?”  
  
“Tom said you’re from the south but your accent -- I can’t place it. You’re not a Georgia girl, that’s for sure.”  
  
“Oh….Virginia. Yes. Exactly.” Laura quickly changed the subject. She didn’t have enough knowledge of this world to even fake her origins. She looked toward the window. “What a beautiful day it is. Tom must be enjoying his walk.”  
  
There was something in Jay’s expression that told her he was much too astute to miss her attempted deflection. But he didn’t pry further. Laura continued to browse the bookshelves. She’d really have to explore the choices more thoroughly when her head felt better. She wanted books that were historical and informational. Most of these appeared to be novels. She chose a few at random to bring back to the suite she shared with Tom.  
  
“Laura?” Jay said. She turned around and watched him place the book and scissors down on the coffee table, “do you think I could ask you for a favor?”  
  
“Yes.” Laura gave a light laugh. “after everything you’re doing for us, I certainly wish you would. If I can help you, I’d like to.”  
  
“You know the way you and Mr. Zarek are….friends?” He said friends but Laura knew that’s not what he meant at all. He meant _lovers._ Laura nodded and he continued on. “I have a lady friend who’s coming over for supper the night after next and it’s just been so long since we’ve...connected...and I want everything to be perfect but I don’t want to seem too forward so I was wondering if -- “  
  
“Tom and I would love to have dinner with you and -- “  
  
Laura watched as Jay’s expression melted into relief. “Daisy. Daisy Buchanan.” He uttered her name like it was a veneration and his face was transfigured by the rapt release of breath and syllables. “Laura, thank you. You’re amazing.”  
  
“You might tell Tom that,” she said, flushing a little at the compliment.  
  
“Oh, he clearly knows that.”  
  
She raised a quizzical eyebrow and Jay laughed. “Well, it’s pretty obvious that he adores you.”  
  
Laura could only smile. Tom didn’t adore her, not by any stretch of the imagination. It was sweet, really. Jay Gatsby was obviously in love, and in the heedless way that only youthful love could be, when it colored the whole world in fragrant rose-tipped hues. It was pretty strong stuff, indeed, if it could make her and Tom Zarek appear cozy.  
  
“I’m very lucky,” she somehow managed.  
  
Jay glowed. “I won’t say a word to anyone about your secret, Laura.” He hesitated. “Is it all right if I tell Daisy?”  
  
“We appreciate your discretion and you can count on ours. And yes, you can tell your friend Daisy.”  
  
“I think it might help if she could see that there are other possibilities.” Jay glanced at his watch. “Yikes. I’ve monopolized you long enough. I should get you back upstairs before Tom gets worried.” In gentlemanly fashion, he picked up the small pile of books that she’d selected and tucked them under one arm while offering her the other.  
  
She took it. “Thanks, Jay. That’s probably a good idea. I am a little tired.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Tom was just coming out of the bathroom when he heard voices. Laura’s voice was familiar enough with its mellow timbre and unhurried grace but it took him a moment to recognize the male voice as Gatsby’s.  
  
“Morning, Jay,” said Tom, as they entered the room. “Well, probably more like afternoon now, isn’t it?”  
  
“I can’t think of a better reason for some extra sleep than what you two went through last night. How are you doing today?”  
  
Tom focused on Laura, his gaze sharp. “Oh, I’m on the mend. My wife has been showering me with attention and goodwill.” He gave her a buttery smile that failed to reach his eyes.  
  
“Jay was just showing me his library,” said Laura coolly. “It’s wonderful.”  
  
Gatsby seemed pleased by the praise. “Well, you both feel free make good use of it anytime you like.” He paused at the doorway. You know, you’re more than welcome to join me for dinner tonight if you’d like.”  
  
Laura gave him a regretful smile. “Thanks, Jay, but I’m still not quite up to it and Tom should probably rest his knee. But the day after tomorrow, definitely.” She turned to Tom. “Jay has invited us to have dinner with him and his friend Daisy.”  
  
“Thursday,” affirmed their host. “I hope the clothes are working out okay. My tailor’s stopping in tomorrow morning, Tom, so if you need any alterations, we can set that up.”  
  
“What, you don’t like this suit on me?” asked Tom with a good-natured grin. He shook a floppy sleeve at Gatsby and the younger man’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Probably best not to answer that. I might take you up on your offer. Thanks.”  
  
“About ten,” said Jay. “Well, enjoy your evening. Call Dennis if you need anything at all and -- make yourselves at home. Pool’s open, too, if you fancy a swim.” He showed himself out.  
  
As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Tom looked at Laura. “You really do find devoted followers wherever you go, don’t you?”  
  
Laura crossed her arms. “Are you insinuating something?”  
  
Tom sat down on the edge of the bed and began unlacing a shoe. “No. That’s not your style.” Seeing her so amicable with Gatsby did get under his skin but it wasn’t because he believed that there was anything brewing between them beyond friendship. It wasn’t jealousy either. Heck, he even liked the guy. It was the fact that she could let her guard down with this virtual stranger but with him, she could barely manage a civil word. They’d faced death together -- multiple times -- shouldn’t it count for something? Occupation, imprisonment, her mutiny against Adama, Baltar’s stupidity...the list went on. But once the chips clattered across the board, he and Laura Roslin always wound up on opposite sides.  
  
“What’s my style, Tom?” Her voice didn’t carry the slightest hint of emotion. That glacial calm of hers never failed to aggravate him. He’d rather see her get angry. Maybe if they could have a decent fight, something would change between them.  
  
“Your style. Let’s see. You're subtle and effective. You got Lee to square off against his own father. Thrace defied her military training and her loyalties and even risked her life to go do your bidding to fetch that arrow for you. I’m not sure what tactic you used there, although I’m suspecting that you played the religious card.”  
  
Something in her face changed; she didn’t look quite so calm. It was her eyes, he realized. The color shifted from gray to green. Her mouth flattened into a straight line and she raised her chin a little.  
  
Tom found that the words came faster now that he’d found a chink in her armor. “Adama, of course, was of pivotal importance. You kept your attack dog on a tight leash. I’m not sure if you frakked him but the truth is you probably didn’t even need to. He was as enamored as the younger version was. I still wonder -- was it his idea to toss me back in jail if I didn’t roll over and hand you the presidency or was it yours?”  
  
“You weren’t in any danger after New Caprica,” said Laura. “But we couldn’t have a divided fleet.”  
  
“Hell of a democracy you had going there. Do you have any idea what it felt like to suddenly be deemed so expendable after….” His words jumbled together and he didn’t give her a chance to answer before rolling into the next question. “You want to know the real irony though?”  
  
“Yes,” said Laura, and the softness in her voice squeezed the bitterness out of his tone. She sat down in the chair across from him and placed her hands in her lap.  
  
“That morning when we were attacked, I was going to give it to you. I never had any illusions about holding onto power for very long. I’m a realist. Without military backing, it would have been impossible. But before I could talk to you about stepping down we had another one of our arguments.” He shook his head and laughed. “Not so very different than the one we’re having now. Then the attack came before I could work up the nerve to actually do it. I don’t expect you to believe me.”  
  
Laura gave him a long look. “I believe you, Tom. But I’m a realist, too. What would you have wanted in return?”  
  
He shrugged. “A say.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Not to be on the outside looking in anymore.”  
  
“Okay,” said Laura thoughtfully. “That’s something I could have worked with. I might have even offered you the Vice-Presidency.” She seemed almost surprised that those particular words came out of her mouth and Tom found himself wanting to believe her.  
  
He gave a derisive snort. “That would have gone over well with Adama.”  
  
“It wouldn’t have been his decision. You showed a lot of courage and conviction on New Caprica.”  
  
“And this idea of yours wouldn’t have anything to do with the expression, ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer,’ now would it?”  
  
He liked the way the wisp of a smile played at the corners of her mouth before actually bursting into bloom. “Probably. Although maybe we would have transitioned into ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend?’”  
  
“I think we’ve already been there, Laura. There and back again.”  
  
She nodded slowly. “Maybe someday it will stick.” They gazed at one another without saying anything until Laura broke the silence. “You missed brunch. There’s a muffin for you over there by the blotter if you’re hungry.”  
  
Tom unwrapped the banana walnut muffin from the neatly folded linen napkin. “You saved a muffin for me. Thanks, Laura. You want half?”  
  
She shook her head. “No, my stomach is still off. I’ll try to eat something later.” He watched her turn to straighten the bedspread, which was already pretty darn straight in his opinion.  
  
“I’m glad you got us into that pod thing,” she said quietly, without looking at him.  
  
It wasn’t an apology for the things that she’d said earlier and he was poised to call her on it. But she turned around and sank down onto the bed, kicking her shoes off as she leaned back against the pillows. She looked tired. He hadn’t exactly been kind to her either. He resisted the impulse to take another verbal swing at her and decided to let it go instead.  
  
“So dinner with Gatsby and Petunia?” said Tom around a mouthful of muffin, purposefully blundering the name of Gatsby’s girlfriend. Just because he’d chosen not to snipe at her didn’t mean he wouldn’t ruffle her feathers a bit.  
  
“Daisy.” The affronted little huff thing she did with her shoulders and the accompanying glare she shot in his direction was worth it. He barely concealed a smile. “Jay thinks I’m fleeing a loveless marriage to be with you,” she added.  
  
“We don’t have to pretend to be married anymore then?”  
  
“Not exactly. I guess divorce is frowned upon so he thinks we’re -- don’t make me explain it, Tom. Please.”  
  
Tom grinned and made a grandiose gesture. “Illicit lovers flouting the conventions of society to be together.” He bit off another large chunk of muffin. “I can sell that.”  
  
Laura rolled over and grabbed a pillow like it was the enemy, arranging it under her head with force that bordered on brutality. “I brought a few books back from the library. I kind of just grabbed whatever was readily available. They’re on the settee. We need to learn everything that we can about this place.” She sighed. “Because we’re probably going to be here for a while.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Laura continue to research West Egg as they prepare for dinner with Jay and Daisy. Tensions of a different kind begin to take shape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to newnumbertwo and lanalucy for their continued beta and support.

Laura spent the following day doing, for once, exactly what Dr. Cobrin had ordered. She rested and slept. Tom was fascinated by the books she’d brought back from the library. He lounged across the settee with his feet propped up on an ottoman engrossed in a book of short stories by a man named Edgar Allan Poe. Laura would later learn that Poe was from the state of Virginia, the same place Gatsby believed that she and Tom had lived before they’d arrived in West Egg. The day was uneventful, dwindling quickly to its close through the veil of drowsy reading and intermittent sleep. Even Tom, who was usually so restless, napped in between long bouts of devouring his book. At one point Laura awakened to discover that he was lying next to her, sound asleep. She had drifted over to his side of the bed, so close that if she moved a fraction of an inch, they’d be touching. She quickly retreated to her own side and he appeared to be none the wiser.

When morning came, Laura was up before Tom. She took a leisurely shower, allowing herself to luxuriate in the warm water for far longer than she could afford to on _Galactica._ Maybe after the evening’s dinner with Jay and Daisy, she’d take a bath. She couldn’t help thinking about the fleet, wondering how they were faring after the brutal attack, while she was here, comfortable in the lap of luxury. How many had perished with _Colonial One_? How many were they mourning? She thought of Bill and Kara and Lee. Abruptly, she turned off the shower and stepped out, burying her face in her towel and using it to stifle her quiet sobs.

She pulled herself together quickly, not wanting Tom to hear. She splashed some cool water on her face, slipped on a bathrobe and re-entered the bedroom. Tom was up, stretching. Shirtless. He’d gone to bed wearing a shirt but it had been exceedingly warm last night and she imagined he’d flung it off without even realizing it. She searched the floor with her eyes until she spotted the white t-shirt and picked it up, tossing it to him.

“Good morning,” she said.

Tom stretched some more, giving his forehead a cursory rub. He didn’t take the hint about the shirt. Emitting a resonant yawn that should only come out of the vocal folds of a tundra yeti and not a human being, he shuffled out of bed.

“Morning.” He offered her an infuriatingly slow smile. “Are you done with the bathroom?”

Laura nodded. “For now. Yes.”

He brushed up against her shoulder as he scooted past her. Laura was relieved when he was gone, glad to hear the click of the bathroom door as it shut. She wasn’t accustomed to sharing her morning routine with anyone, let alone Tom Zarek. The suite had seemed so large that first night, but it was shrinking day by day.

Laura picked through the closet, once again lamenting the lack of slacks and then feeling guilty for worrying about something so trivial. She hastily chose another dress, a pale shade of yellow with three quarter sleeves and a ruffled skirt. She placed it on the bed and waited for Tom to finish in the bathroom. She leafed through a book of poems by Walt Whitman, too distracted by thoughts of the fleet to truly absorb the words.

Tom emerged a short time later -- wearing nothing but a towel cinched around his waist.

“There _are_ bathrobes, you know,” she told him, “hanging on a hook inside the linen closet.”

“It’s way too hot for a bathrobe.” He gave her a lingering once-over. “You must be dying in that thing.”

Actually, she _was_ warm. Unaccountably warm. But she wasn’t going to tell him that. She shrugged. “I’m fine. I’m going to go back in there and get dressed. If you’re done.”

“Go for it.”

Among the other things Jay had provided them with, there was a large case of unused cosmetics along with some shaving gear for Tom. Laura applied very light make-up; anything heavy would only melt off in the heat. But it felt good to do something so everyday and ordinary. She emerged from the bathroom feeling a little bit more ready to tackle her day -- and Tom.

He had gotten dressed. The gray pants and white polo shirt actually fit him, giving definition back to the body that had been swallowed up by the oversized suit from the other day. He stood by the window, hands in his pockets. A newspaper was spread out on the small round table.

“I cancelled breakfast,” he said, shaking out the newspaper and folding it up. “Up here anyway. I figured it would be nice to get out of this room. They have a continental spread for us downstairs, whenever you’re ready.”

She agreed with him on that point; she was going a little stir crazy. “How’s your knee?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“Did you change your bandage?”

“Yeah.”

Laura narrowed her eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I’m fine. Can we go eat? I'm hungry.”

“Sit down on the bed, Tom.”

He plopped down unceremoniously, sulking a little. His expression was reminiscent of one of her pouty first graders being told that they couldn’t go out for recess.

Laura fixed her eyes on his with uncompromising ferocity.“I’m getting your bandages. Don’t move.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Laura returned with fresh bandages, ointment, and antiseptic.

“I have serious doubts about this, Laura, especially after you stabbed me with that needle the other day.”

She sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’re so dramatic. I didn’t stab you. Lift up your pant leg. Tom, you can’t neglect your knee. You don’t want an infection.”

“It’s itchy today -- that’s a good sign.”

“Yes,” said Laura, “that means it’s healing. And we want to keep it that way.”

“For gods sake, just change the frakking bandage,” he said. “Don’t bother with all that other stuff.”

“Tom -- “

“The antiseptic smell. I can’t -- I can’t smell like that all day. It reminds me of prison.” He looked into her eyes but the connection lasted only a moment and Laura realized that he was looking through her, past her. “Reminds me of cleaning products and --” he lapsed into a hollow laugh. The light words didn’t match the unsteadiness in his tone.“I hate cleaning.”

His expression tugged at her, pitching her forward into a flood of emotion that she hadn’t fully felt since that day in detention with the water. She carefully unwrapped the bandage from around his knee. The wound looked clean. The swelling had gone down and there was no redness around the stitches. Laura picked up the ointment and the antiseptic. Tom bristled.

“It’s okay,” she said, standing up, “Give me a second.” She went into the bathroom and put the items into the medicine cabinet. She picked up bottle after bottle, reading labels and sniffing their contents. It took her a couple of minutes but she finally found what she was looking for.

Tom eyed the bottle in her hand suspiciously. Laura unscrewed the cap and handed the bottle to him. “Take a small sniff.”

He did as she advised and then gave it back to her.

“Is that okay?” asked Laura.

“Yeah. That’s okay.”

Laura dampened a small gauze pad. “You’re sure?”

Embarrassment flickered across his features, so brief that Laura was almost uncertain that she’d seen it. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“This is witch hazel; it’s a natural anti-inflammatory and cleanser. I wasn’t sure if they’d have it but we lucked out.” She began cleaning the area.

“I don’t think there’s much that Jay doesn’t have in there.”

Laura smiled. “True enough. Antiseptic made my mother nauseous when she was going through diloxin treatments so one of her doctors suggested this, which she could tolerate.”

“Yeah. I remember witch hazel. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a bottle of that but I remember the smell. They didn’t have that in prison. We got the cheap industrial stuff.” There was a pause. “I’m sorry to hear about your mom.”

Laura wrapped his knee with fresh bandages and carefully pulled his pant leg back down. “All done.” She couldn’t meet his eyes but she felt him looking at her.

“Thanks, Laura.”

“You’re welcome.” She rose, faltering a little.

Tom touched her arm. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Laura said too quickly. She pulled away. “I just stood up too fast. Let’s go have breakfast.”

 

* * *

 

They spent the morning at the library, not the one in Jay’s house, but the West Egg Public Library. Jay was consistent with his penchant for anticipating the needs of his guests. After breakfast, Tom passed him in the hall and he offered the use of his car and driver for the day with the amusing comment, “It’ll give my driver something to do; I hardly ever use the service.”

“Why have it then?” asked Tom curiously.

Jay merely smiled his effortless smile. “It’s fashionable, old sport. I’ll see you and Laura for dinner tonight, right? Is seven suitable?”

Tom almost wanted to pretend to think about it just for laughs but he opted for a simple “We’re looking forward to it” instead. It was true enough. This imposed leisure was new and unprecedented. As Tom recovered from his injuries, the desire for meaningful purpose became more pronounced. He knew that Laura felt it, too -- the restlessness. Dinner would be a good distraction; it would get them both out of their heads a little.

When Tom was a little boy he remembered having a small glass snow globe. Inside was a spired castle, a fierce dragon, and a brave knight charging into the fray with his sword flung high. One day his mother was dusting and the snow globe crashed to the floor, breaking into several pieces. His parents were able to salvage the pedestal. The knight remained poised for battle, the dragon still reared back on its haunches, and the castle still loomed in the distance with its unimaginable secret treasures. But the figures were somehow never quite the same, displaced as they were from the snowy landscape that had been their homeland. Maybe the enclosed globe was a prison in its own way but it was a familiar one nevertheless.

They weren’t running from Cylons anymore but they’d still been wrenched from everything that they knew. This new world was a mystery. It had only been a couple of days but already Tom felt the strangeness of this alien place where the cosmos had seen fit to spew them forth like an undigested meal. The inevitable question thrummed through his head, begging for an answer.

_What next? What now?_

When they entered the library Tom asked Laura what section she planned to start browsing in. He expected her answer to be History or Astronomy or Science. Maybe even Geography or Political Studies. Browsing through recent newspapers and magazines also seemed wise and like a reasonable course of action the former President would favor. But Laura surprised him with her quick but unexpected response.

“Women’s Fashion,” she answered with an air that such a choice should be obvious.

Tom laughed, a low and resonant chuckle that came right from his belly.

Laura gave a forlorn sigh. “Don’t judge. I need to find out what happened to women’s slacks. It’ll only take me a minute -- and then I’ll move on to something more practical.”

“I am absolutely not judging you,” he said, nodding his head to the contrary with a teasing smirk. “I’ll be in the Politics section. I’ll be on the lookout for women’s garments and I’ll keep you posted if I find anything of note.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” said Laura as she turned around and walked off.

* * *

 

Laura Roslin was furious and for once her anger was not directed at him. It was a few hours after they’d gone their separate ways to explore different sections of the library. Tom was absorbed in a book about the United States revolutionary war when he heard the quick tap of heels on the polished floor. He knew the distinct sound of Laura’s stride only too well and half expected to see her wearing one of her power suits, glaring at him with pursed lips. She stalked forward looking like an angry dragon ready to strike and he almost wondered if smoke would suddenly begin curling out of her nostrils. She was fuming -- in the very literal dictionary definition of the word.

A ruddy faced man with a short stocky build followed at her heels, huffing and puffing to keep pace with her and not managing very well.

“He’s right here,” said Laura, gesturing to Tom. Her voice was crisp but underneath the shortness was a false sweetness that she was making every effort to emphasize. She deposited the gigantic stack of books that she carried on the table right next to Tom’s revolutionary war book.

“You’re the lady’s husband?” asked the man, looking doubtfully at Tom.

“That’s right,” said Tom without missing a beat. “Is there a problem?” Tom gave the man his most intimidating look. After twenty years in prison, he’d had plenty of time to develop a rather formidable don’t-frak-with-me demeanor when the need arose.

“No, sir. It’s just -- some of the books that the lady wishes to take out are not typically borrowed by ladies. It’s just a bit unusual. I only asked if she --”

“He asked if I was accompanied by a male escort,” said Laura. “Natural Science and Law aren’t the purview of women? Really?”

“Well, that’s not exactly what I meant to imply.” The man floundered, looking from one irate face to the other. He backpedaled. “I just wanted to make sure that the lady didn’t need any help.”

“She doesn’t,” said Tom. “The lady is perfectly capable. But thanks.”

“Very good, sir,” said the man. “I’ll just leave you to your research.”

“You do that,” said Tom. He covered Laura’s hand when it closed around the top book on the pile.

“I wasn’t going to throw a book at him,” said Laura after the man had retreated. “Although I was thoroughly enjoying the fantasy of doing so. Women only got the right to vote two years ago.” Her voice was filled with disbelief. “If you can believe it. Did you see how he talked to you as if I weren’t even in the room?”

“They had slaves, too,” said Tom sourly. His hand still covered hers. It felt so natural, he hadn’t even realized it. He promptly pulled away.

Laura frowned. “We should brief one another as we discover things of significance. I’ve put together a background story for us. We can go over it before dinner.”

“Should I get you out of here before you decide to take out the librarian?”

“Gods. He made my head hurt.”

“Come on,” said Tom, smiling as he gathered up as many books as he could carry. Let’s see if we can finagle a library card. I’m the man so maybe I’d better handle it.”

Laura shot him a look. “Watch it. I know where you sleep, Zarek.”

* * *

 

Tom got ready for dinner first, skulking into the bathroom in a manner that reminded Laura of a spy on a secret mission rather than a man getting ready for an intimate dinner party. She curled up on the cream colored settee in the meantime, thumbing through a high school curriculum text. There was a method to her madness; it was a quick way to absorb a great deal of information about the planet in a very short amount of time. The planet. She willed her mind to say it and then she formed the word with her lips, whispering the one syllable. _Earth._ From the details that she remembered from the charts she’d studied with Elosha, and what she could recall from the images she’d seen on Kobol, this was _the_ Earth. She couldn’t deal with that truth and all the implications that it would mean. Not yet. Against her will, she flipped again to the page she’d bookmarked at the library, a rendering of the solar system of which this Earth was the third planet from the sun, their closest star. Laura traced the blue and green globe with the tip of her finger.

_How? How could this be possible?_

She slammed the book shut with a loud crack and placed it on the table with the other books, tucking it at the very bottom of the pile. It was only then that Laura noticed the long rectangular black velvet box and the note nestled neatly under one corner. She broke the small silver seal on the envelope and pulled out the note. The paper was a high quality white stationery framed by a clean black frame with a lavish curlicue design centered elegantly at the top of the page. It was handwritten.

_Dear Tom and Laura,_

_Thank you for doing me the courtesy of joining Daisy and me for dinner tonight. I told her that Laura is my cousin from Virginia; I hope you don’t mind the small deception. I know that you both prize your privacy and I thought this arrangement would simplify things. I did explain the situation that we discussed, as Laura gave me leave to disclose that particular piece of information. You can rely on our discretion as I know that we, in turn, can rely on yours._

_When you open the black box, you’ll find an assortment of jewelry. It’s not as extravagant as it appears. They’re all costume pieces._

_Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy them. Especially the rings._

_Daisy was very excited to meet Laura and she’ll come upstairs at six o'clock to chat and get ready, if you’ll forgive us for the intrusion. During that time, I’d be delighted to have you join me, Tom, for an aperitif in the billiard room before dinner._

_Very truly yours,_

_Jay Gatsby_

Laura opened up the black box. Like everything Jay offered, the gift was high quality and elaborate, costume jewelry or no. There were necklaces and bracelets, clip on earrings, and combs for Laura’s hair. There was a wide variety of different colored stones to choose from and so many pieces of varying styles.

The rings were the only pieces of jewelry that were duplicated and Laura immediately understood why. They were wedding rings, a band for each of them and a single marquise style faux diamond and gold solitaire for Laura. Jay didn’t know their ring sizes so he had given them a few different sizes to choose from.

It wasn’t a gift that she could ignore, and really, it might make things easier for her and Tom if they did wear rings since they were posing as a married couple. She knew that Jay had only the kindest of intentions, but the notion of wearing even a fake wedding ring linking her to Tom Zarek felt -- off-putting. It was confusing enough already as it was, the two of them sharing the suite with one another, not to mention a bed. When Laura heard the bathroom door open, she abruptly closed the box and grabbed a book at random. She resumed her earlier position on the settee.

Tom emerged from the bathroom smelling faintly of aftershave, dark hair glossy and neatly combed. He was wearing a tuxedo that fit him to perfection and Laura realized that Jay must have made sure that he had been properly fitted the morning Tom and he had met with the tailor. He looked...good.

He tossed her an impish smile and Laura realized that she had been staring. “Good book?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.” Laura glanced down at the book she was holding in front of her. It was upside down. She flipped it over. “I mean -- I hope it is. I was just getting started when you came out of the bathroom. There’s a note from Jay on the table.” She buried her face in the book. “And a gift.”

Laura watched as Tom read the note and opened the box. He looked from the box to her and then back at the box again. He seemed as uncomfortable with the whole idea as she was and for some odd reason, that made the whole thing a little easier. They looked at one another -- and simultaneously burst into laughter.

“Well, pick a ring, Mrs. Zarek,” said Tom holding the box out to her. “Well, two, I guess -- in your case.”

And it was as simple as that. They both fussed for a few moments with sizes but finally they each had little gold rings situated on their hands. And neither of them said another word about it once it was done.

“So before dinner I’ll be having drinks with Jay. I guess he’s not a stickler for the prohibition we read about.” said Tom. “Is my tie on straight?”

“Yes,” said Laura. “It is.”

Tom glanced at the clock. “Well, I’m going to get downstairs and give you a chance to get ready. I guess I'll see you in a little bit.”

Laura watched him go. She was glad Jay had some illegal booze lying about because -- she really needed a drink.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Laura get ready for their dinner engagement and meet Daisy Buchanan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lanalucy and newnumbertwo for their wonderful support and beta work.

Laura began getting ready as soon as Tom left to meet Jay. If she could reciprocate Jay's kindness by putting his lady friend at ease, then she was only too willing to do so. The last time she recalled getting ready for a party with another woman occurred back in the days when her sisters had been alive. She missed those feminine rituals -- trading opinions on what looked good and what didn’t, Cheryl’s hands threading through her hair as she styled the long red waves, Sandra’s surefire method of making her eyes pop with nothing but a little bit of liner and a mere trace of mascara. Laura was deft with a curling iron, to her younger sisters’ chagrin. Her own hair never needed one. The beds would be strewn with magazines and multicolored glass bottles, a carefree chaos of women’s beauty products as disorganized as their silly chatter had been. It seemed like such a long time ago but also so close that she could almost spread her arms out, enfold the memory, and live in it again.  
  
The suite was too quiet. Laura fumbled with the buttons on the radio. Big band music burst forth with its broad sweep of percussion, brass, and woodwinds while a brash saxophone carried the main melody. It was music meant for dancing but it did little to lighten Laura’s mood. Even so, it was better than the silence. She left it on.  
  
It didn’t take her very long to make a final decision about her dress; she decided on a tasteful concoction of amber taffeta. The fitted bodice had a v-shaped neckline and three-quarter length sleeves. It flared out to a tea-length skirt. A sale tag was still pinned to the neckline, and as far as Laura could tell, it had never been worn. She was pretty certain there was some topaz jewelry in the box that Jay had given them, the one with the wedding rings. Laura looked down at the little gold band on her finger and rolled her eyes. Gods. The universe sure did have a twisted sense of humor.  
  
She had just taken the dress out of the plastic and laid it out on the bed when she heard the knock. “Come in,” Laura called over her shoulder.  
  
A woman opened the door, poking her head into the room. “Are you decent?”  
  
“Yes,” said Laura. She walked over to meet Daisy and was instantly enveloped in a perfumed embrace, the scent so cloying that she had to bite back a cough.  
  
As they separated from the hug, Daisy took both of Laura’s hands in each of her own and swung them back and forth. “Laura Zarek,” she cooed. “Jay’s cousin from Virginia! Can I call you Laura? You absolutely must call me Daisy. My cousin lives in East Egg, too. But you won’t hold it against him; I know you won’t. Have you met Nick yet? I just know we’re going to be good friends.” She giggled. “It’s positively predestined. Ever have that uncanny intuition about someone you’ve just met?”  
  
“Sometimes,” said Laura, feeling a little bit like she’d just been assaulted by a talking, bubbling, fizzy flower.  
  
“See? We’re practically sisters already,” Daisy drawled. “Oh, is that your dress? It’s darling. You won’t be too warm in it though, will you?”  
  
“Thank you -- no.” Laura had a feeling she could answer Daisy’s questions with any number of arbitrary responses and the woman wouldn’t notice the difference -- or care.  
  
“You daring thing,” said Daisy with a little wink. “That neckline. I think you can pull it off though. You have quite a figure, especially for a mature woman.”  
  
“Well, thank you,” said Laura with false sweetness. She imitated Daisy’s quicksilver tone. “I’m so glad you think so.”  
  
“I have some make-up in my purse that could probably hide that bruise on your cheek, too. Jay told me about the accident. Just horrible. How are you feeling?”  
  
“Much better,” said Laura. “Thank you.”  
  
“And your...husband? That curve is a nightmare, especially at night, and well -- you know -- “ She lowered her voice. “ -- if you’ve had a nip or two.”  
  
“Tom didn’t have one or two of anything,” said Laura calmly. “We were coming from out of town and the roads were unfamiliar.” There was no real need to defend Tom since the car accident story was a lie, but Laura didn’t like Daisy’s poorly veiled insinuations.  
  
“Oh, my goodness, Laura!” Daisy clapped a hand over her mouth. “I didn’t mean to imply -- “  
  
It was, of course, exactly what she’d meant to imply. Laura didn’t believe for one moment that Daisy Buchanan lacked awareness of what her words suggested. She could see the evidence of it in the younger woman’s calculating blue eyes.  
  
“Of course not,” said Laura, patting Daisy’s arm. By some miracle of divine favor, she managed not to grit her teeth. She decided that a change of subject was her best bet and if her instinct was correct, this girl would bask in the glow of compliments. If it shut her up for a moment, it would be worth the effort. “Your dress is beautiful. That pale blue is a good color on you."  
  
Daisy laughed and twirled. “You think so? Thank you.”  
  
“Did you know that my husband is a Tom, too?” asked Daisy.  
  
Laura shook her head. “No, I didn’t. I think it must be another sign of our fated friendship.” She wondered if Daisy caught the undertone of sarcasm in her voice. The younger woman was quiet for the first time since she’d traipsed into the room and Laura got the distinct feeling that she was being appraised.  
  
“Jay’s very fond of you. He just waxes poetic when he mentions your name,” said Daisy. She gave a silvery laugh. “You’ll be with us for the rest of the summer then?”  
  
“I hope so,” said Laura.  
  
“How perfect! Oh! You have to let me do your hair,” Daisy touched a red wave that fell against Laura’s shoulder. “Such a luxurious color. Yours?”  
  
“Absolutely,” said Laura. “I appreciate the offer but I already did it. It takes so long to dry, I learned a long time ago when getting ready to always start with the hair.”  
  
Daisy’s eyes widened. “You’re going to wear it down like that?”  
  
Laura checked her reflection in the mirror hanging over the loveseat. Too much volume maybe? Frizz? No. She’d gotten it right. “Yes, I almost always wear it like this.”  
  
“Really? Oh my. And I thought my bob was gutsy. You’re a -- modern woman, Laura.”  
  
What in the twelve worlds was so scandalous about her hair? If long hair was more acceptable on women, she certainly qualified. Laura sighed. This place did have some mind boggling customs.  
  
“Well, it’s very pretty,” twittered Daisy. “Just like a Ziegfeld girl.”  
  
Somehow Laura didn’t think the statement was meant a compliment. She made a mental note to look up the reference later.  
  
“I’m going to head into the bathroom and slip this on,” said Laura, picking up her dress. She was grateful for any excuse to retreat. What could a man like Jay possibly see in a woman like Daisy? By comparison, even Tom’s company was almost a delight. “We’ve probably kept the men waiting long enough.”  
  
“They’re so impatient, aren’t they?” said Daisy with a rebellious smirk. “You take all the time you need.” She winked. “It’s good to keep them waiting.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Tom had never worn a tuxedo before. He’d gotten used to the power suits that were a necessary part of playing the role of a politician but he’d always preferred a pair of jeans, a black shirt, and his leather jacket. Anything, of course, beat twenty years wearing an orange jumpsuit. He’d learned a long time ago that if you were going to play any role in this world, you had to look the part -- first and foremost. He’d played a lot of parts over the years, so faking it was nothing new, but it sure wasn’t anything he’d been prepared for. Laura Roslin’s lover and husband. Hell, she must be having an existential crisis over it.  
  
All things considered, she’d treated him better than he would have expected since the crash but she had a knack for surprising him. And few people ever managed such a feat. He considered himself well-studied in the complexities of human nature but he’d never quite wrapped his head around Laura. Just when he had her pegged as a cold-hearted bureaucrat, no different from her predecessors, she’d turn around and do something completely unexpected, like mutinying against Adama or refusing to flush the Astral Queen’s prisoners out of the nearest airlock.  
  
Like stripping herself practically bare and warming his freezing body under a threadbare blanket…  
  
“You’re thinking about her, aren’t you?” asked Jay, interrupting the haze of memory. His blue eyes were bright with understanding and something that almost looked like sympathy.  
  
“What? No.” Tom didn’t mean to sound so defensive. There was no reason for him to deny it to Jay, who so desperately wanted to believe the fairy tale.  
  
“I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” said Jay softly, “it’s just nice to see two people who genuinely care for one another, to see something between them that’s so true and -- well -- real. I see a lot of couples, Tom. But not many like you and Laura.”  
  
 _I don’t know what you think you see, buddy, but it’s sure not what you think it is._ Jay’s belief that he and Laura were almost legendary class lovers was something he would easily scoff at if someone else were misguided enough to hold onto such a notion. But he couldn’t quite manage to feel disparagingly toward kind-hearted Jay Gatsby, even if the man was dead wrong.  
  
“Laura and I have been through a lot together.” That was true. People tended to believe lies that began with even some small basis of truth. “We’re excited about our new start. Everything would have been a lot harder if you hadn’t come along after the accident. As soon as we get on our feet, we’ll get out of your hair -- “  
  
“I keep telling you both not to worry about that. You’re my guests for as long as you like. It’s not like I don’t have the room. Have you met any of the others staying with me yet?”  
  
“Not really,” said Tom. He and Laura had been lying low until they got a better feel for the lay of the land. “Laura still has headaches so we’ve been up in the room a lot.” Another half-truth.  
  
“Most of them want something, Tom. Oh, they think I don’t know it but of course I do. I’m not an idiot.”  
  
“And you think Laura and I don’t want anything from you?” Sometimes Gatsby’s naivete floored him. He didn’t really know them. They could probably rob the man blind if they wanted to. A mentality like that could shatter a man. In prison, it could even get you killed. Or worse.  
  
Jay’s lips curved upwards into a smile, transforming his expression into a look of wise innocence. “Is this your way of telling me that you do -- want something from me?”  
  
Tom laughed. “No. Let’s just say I’m not entirely used to people giving without looking for something in return. And you -- you should be careful.”  
  
“Don’t you worry about me, old sport. I’ve been around the block more than you probably think.”  
  
Tom wouldn’t doubt that. Money of the magnitude Jay Gatsby possessed didn’t come without its own price tag. Just exactly what that was, Tom wasn’t sure yet. But he was certain that Gatsby’s wealth didn’t spring entirely from the chain of drugstores he’d talked about running a little while ago. Jay was a tough nut to crack. He was so damned evasive, avoiding direct questions with such requisite good grace that you barely noticed until five minutes after the conversation had wandered somewhere else. If he weren’t as kind as he appeared to be, he’d have made one hell of a politician.  
  
The butler, like all truly talented servants, materialized out of nowhere and casually whispered something in Jay’s ear before offering Tom another drink. He politely declined the offer. Jay’s booze was just about as potent as what was available after the Cylons had come and that was some pretty strong liquor. Tom had never liked partaking in anything that dulled his senses. He liked to be alert.  
  
“The ladies are on their way down,” said Jay. “Daisy doesn’t like the veranda at night -- too many moths. You don’t mind heading in do you?”  
  
Tom shrugged. It was a beautiful summer night and there was a gorgeous view from the wide veranda with the sound in the distance. Moonlight reflected off the water, coloring the surface silver. The breeze out here was delicious, too. He’d forgotten what leaves sounded like when the wind picked up, that comforting and recurring swish as it swept through them. After what seemed like a lifetime stuck in tiny cells and metal ships, he was really enjoying the outdoors.  
  
“Sure,” said Tom. Maybe he could entice Laura into accompanying him for a walk after dinner. He immediately retracted the thought. He could go for a walk on his own. This whole couple-facade thing must be screwing with his head. “Yeah. Let’s go in.”  
  
Jay led Tom to a large sitting room with elegantly high wingback chairs in teal velvet and a plush paisley patterned carpet at the center of the hardwood floor. Candles glowed in the windows, giving the room warmth and ambiance. Vases bursting with fresh flowers in full bloom had been placed on almost every available flat surface. A bottle of red wine waited for them, too, on the central coffee table, with four glasses ready to be filled. Next to the bottle of wine was a tray of decadent dark chocolate truffles.  
  
“I hope Laura likes red wine,” said Jay. “That particular type is supposed to go very well with the chocolates.” Tom noticed that Jay kept looking toward the entryway, brushing invisible lint off his tux, and generally not looking at all like his easygoing self.  
  
Tom had no idea whether or not Laura liked red wine but he nodded at Jay as if it were the most natural thing in the world to answer a question about her tastes. “Sure she does. So how long have you and Daisy known one another?” Tom was genuinely curious and he also knew that engaging Gatsby prevented him from asking any further questions about him and Laura.  
  
“Five years. I met her before the war but I didn’t have anything to offer her then. She couldn’t really see me. Not seriously. Family pressure, you know. By the time I got back, she’d married Buchanan and had moved east. Here. To West Egg She's just across the water.”  
  
“Ah,” said Tom. “That explains the house location.”  
  
Jay chuckled. “Oh, well, it’s a great spot. The West Egg folks aren't all that thrilled with me. New money and all that."  
  
“Somehow I don’t think that prime real estate had anything to do with your choice,” said Tom.  
  
“Probably not,” agreed Jay with a sheepish smile. “Does she ever look back, Tom? Laura I mean -- was it hard for her to leave her family and friends behind when you two...got together?”  
  
“Laura and I left a lot of things behind,” said Tom, “but we’re together and that’s enough.” Gods, he hoped Laura would get down here soon. He was running out of greeting card responses to Jay’s questions.  
  
“So what do you do for work, Tom?” Jay asked. “I know Laura’s a teacher.”  
  
Tom was about to launch into the background story that he and Laura had prepared when a feminine laugh floated through the air. It wasn’t Laura’s laugh. Tom knew that instantly. This laugh was more showy than Laura’s understated giggle.. It was a good laugh though -- and like any good laugh -- it made the listener wonder what was so amusing.  
  
The woman who was presumably Daisy Buchanan flounced into the room. Her lustrous voice matched the effervescent flourish of her laughter. There was something warm and bell-like in the sound but Tom could also tell that she was well-aware of the effect. Thirty years ago he might have been completely charmed.  
  
The initial focus of Daisy's attention went to Jay. She beamed a smile in his direction that would make sunlit water at the height of noon seem dull by comparison. And then, just as quickly, she was looking at him.  
  
“Thomas Zarek,” she said, as if she’d known him his whole life. She shook her head in a disapproving fashion.“You’ve flustered that poor woman upstairs beyond any hope of repair.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if she were confiding a great secret. “Laura will be down in a minute. She forgot her purse.”  
  
“Oh, I’ve been known to have that effect on people,” said Tom, picking up her playful tone with ease. “I’m just glad she didn’t forget _me_.” He grinned. “Nice to meet you, Daisy.”  
  
She was as pretty as Tom had expected, short blonde bobbed hair and striking blue eyes, eyes that were full of lights and colors and movement, like a bustling city at twilight. Eyes full of the promise of exciting places to go and the enticement of sights unseen.  
  
“So what do you think of East Egg?” asked Daisy.  
  
“Delightful. But Jay’s our host so...how could it be anything but?”  
  
“Would you like a drink, Daisy?” asked Jay.  
  
“What’s Tom having?”  
  
“Oh, well...Tom here switched to ginger ale.”  
  
“Already? Oh, you’re one of _those._ That’s bad form, you know. You’re apt to make the rest of us feel like a bunch of inebriates.” She patted Jay’s arm. “Jay will be thrilled, of course. He hardly ever has more than two of anything. I’m going to have to rely on Laura then.”  
  
“I’m merely pacing myself,” said Tom. “And don’t hold your breath. Laura’s -- “  
  
He saw the familiar shine of glossy red hair in his peripheral vision. The thick carpet dulled her footsteps so he didn’t notice Laura until she’d entered the room completely. She looked beautiful. He’d never seen her in an evening dress before. The rich amber color suited her, playing off the hints of gold in her hair. The dress fit well, although she was still too thin in Tom’s estimation. They all were after New Caprica. The two belts that he owned after the exodus had already been falling apart from overuse.  
  
“You were discussing me,” said Laura. “I distinctly heard my name.”  
  
“Was I?” He smiled broadly at her, making no effort to conceal either the fact that he was looking or his admiration. “I guess I lost my train of thought.”  
  
“Booze,” said Jay mischievously.  
  
“Hooch,” chimed in Daisy.  
  
“Oh,” said Tom. “That’s right. We were discussing your alcohol consumption habits. I had to warn them about what a lush you are. I mean, really, sweetheart -- it’s early and you’re already forgetting things.”  
  
Laura shrugged and smiled. “I think this conversation is just begging for a toast.”  
  
Jay laughed. “Too true. Allow me.” He opened the bottle of red wine and poured some into each glass.  
  
“What shall we toast?” asked Daisy eagerly.  
  
“To new friendships,” said Jay, raising his glass toward Daisy’s.  
  
Tom turned to Laura and met her eyes, green-gray and glimmering in the candlelight. “To new friendships,” he repeated with a teasing grin as he clinked her glass.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura and Tom have dinner with Jay and Daisy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to lanalucy and newnubertwo for great beta work and support.

Dinner was elaborate but cozy and Laura was surprised at how easily she and Tom fell into relaxing with Jay and Daisy. She was grateful for the distraction. There was so much loss still hovering over her heart -- so much still unknown. For a few hours she could leave behind those last images of _Colonial One_ and the fleet. She didn’t have to keep reliving all of her mistakes, and gods knew there were too many of those. She realized this chance to forget would only be a temporary reprieve. Later she would lie in bed next to a man she had no business being so close to, and it would all come flooding back. That’s what grief did. It lurked and then it struck without warning. Over and over again.

Tom was in his element and had no trouble at all mingling with their new friends. Laura couldn’t imagine him ever being at a loss for words. She suspected he'd always been like that. She allowed herself to envision a small school-aged Tom, all shaggy dark hair and wide blue eyes. He would have driven his teachers crazy with incessant chatter and a bottomless supply of questions. He’d challenge authority and get the rest of the class riled up. His natural curiosity would be a delight though. He was the kind of student you’d want to keep very, very busy. Keeping him occupied while handling the adult version wasn’t such a bad idea either.

After dinner Jay suggested they return to the sitting room for coffee and dessert. Tom looked longingly toward the window and Laura understood he craved the fresh air and wide vistas of the outdoors as much as she did. People weren’t meant to live on ships. It wasn’t natural.They’d both been trapped in confined spaces for far too long.

"I want to hear about how the two of you met," said Daisy, nodding at Jay to refill her glass when he motioned questioningly toward the wine bottle. She sure could put away a lot of alcohol. She didn't appear to be drunk from it but there was a growing brightness in her eyes and a looser quality to her speech.

"Yes!" agreed Jay. We need a story." He filled Daisy’s glass.

"Oh," said Laura with a dismissive wave, "Tom and I meeting. Not very interesting."

Tom leaned forward. "Don't listen to her. It's a fantastic story." He smirked at Laura, a devious spark of challenge in his eyes. "Do you want to tell it or should I?"

Laura caught the look but she wasn't going to take the bait. "Oh, no," she said. "You should."

"I am good with a story, aren't I?" said Tom.

"Yes, dear.” Laura rolled her eyes.

"Laura and I met on an unbelievably rainy day in March," Tom began.

"It was pouring," said Laura with a small smile. "Buckets and buckets of rain."

"Torrential," confirmed Tom. "The streets were flooding. Traffic had slowed to a crawl. We were probably the only idiots still out and about on the street. I was heading off to meet a client and Laura was returning a library book on -- what was it, honey?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Women's fashion?"

Laura pursed her lips and glowered at him. "Actually, no. It was a pretentious memoir. I can’t even remember the author’s name. Some political activist."

Tom smiled and that little dimple on his left cheek made an appearance. He gave her an admiring look. Clearly, he was enjoying their covert sparring.

"Well, anyway, Laura and I were both finishing up our respective errands. The weather was so unpleasant it was almost impossible to get a cab. I was soaked but I finally flagged one down and was just about to get in when Laura suddenly appeared out of nowhere. You see, for some reason, she felt she had a prior claim to my cab. But I'd definitely hailed it first."

"That's completely debatable," said Laura. "We were approaching the cab from different sides. And remember -- the rain was heavy. Visibility was terrible. It would be very difficult to determine who had gotten the driver's attention first. And we’ve never reached a mutual agreement about that."

Tom leaned a little closer to her on the loveseat and slipped a seemingly casual arm across the back, just brushing his fingertips against her shoulder. "We grabbed the doors at the same time and we both got in. And that's when the fun really started." Tom grinned. "Laura here launched into a dissertation about how she'd hailed the cab first and had the only legitimate claim. Of course, I had plenty of counter arguments to the contrary. Poor cab driver didn't know which end was up. He was a smart fellow, though, because he asked where we were both going and suggested we share. It turns out my client was only a couple of blocks away from her house. Laura _graciously_ agreed to sharing the cab and splitting the fare with me so we rode together to our respective destinations."

“And then you just had to see her again,” chimed in Daisy, twisting her strand of pearls around one manicured finger. She giggled. “And then again and again and again.”

“It was certainly convenient knowing where Laura lived,” said Tom. Laura watched him compose his features into a masterfully executed expression of muted yearning. “But it still took too long before I got to see her again. And now -- of course -- she’s stuck with me.”

Laura beamed a smile at him that could easily be construed as affectionate. “My sentiments exactly.”

Tom returned her look with a broad smile of his own. It was more than a little irritating that he took her jabs with such good grace and yet it was somehow part of the fun, too. Laura was still trying to reconcile just exactly how she felt about that.

Turning back toward the other couple, she watched as Daisy’s head flopped against Jay’s shoulder. He leaned toward her ear and said something in a quiet tone. Her voice, by contrast, was loud. It even lacked its lilting refinement.

“I’m fine, Jay. I don’t need to go for a walk.”

 _“I’m_ warm,” said Jay smoothly. “The suggestion was really for my sake.”

“It is warm tonight,” said Tom.

Jay flashed him a grateful smile. “You’re welcome to join us.” He rose and offered Daisy his arm. She accepted it with an agitated little huff of her shoulders.

“Yes, do,” said Daisy. But her artificial tone said something else.

“You two go ahead,” said Laura. “We’ll wait.”

Jay began escorting Daisy toward the wide glass doors that led out to the garden. “I’ll leave some music on for you,” he said, glancing back at them. He made a quick adjustment to the record player. “We won’t be long.”

“She’s horrible,” said Laura once Jay and Daisy were well out of earshot. She stood up and stretched, wincing a little from the pain of muscles still sore from the crash. Even so, it felt good to move.

“She’s not what I would have expected,” said Tom. “But who said love is reasonable?” The music Jay had put on for them began to swell and Tom tilted his head toward the record player. “You know, you never did dance with me on Colonial Day.”

Laura walked toward the windows, moving deliberately so that her back was toward him. She answered without turning around, shrugging her shoulders. “You didn’t ask.”

Tom moved toward her until she felt him directly behind her. She listened to the rhythmic click of his shoes and then felt a light puff of breath against the crown of her hair. He waited. She could feel the heat of him. After a long minute, Laura turned around slowly and met his eyes. The familiar challenge was there mixed with a burgeoning curiosity that was -- not familiar. Even in her heels, he was still a tad taller than she was. Next time, she decided, she’d just have to find a higher pair of shoes.

“If I were to ask you to dance, would you accept?”

“Such a tentative invitation. That’s unlike you, Tom.”

He inched closer. “Maybe...I’m learning humility.”

She gave a low chuckle. “Not possible.”

“Okay, then. Maybe I just want to show off my dance moves.”

“Now that, I can believe. Are you sure you’re up for this? Sore knee and all?”

“It’s a slow one. I can handle it. Once you say yes, of course.”

Laura leaned in and placed a hand on his shoulder. He reciprocated without missing a beat, placing his palm against the small of her back and drawing her closer. They began to move together, a little awkwardly at first until they got used to one another’s natural movement. But it wasn’t long before they eased into a rhythm. Truth be told, Zarek wasn’t a bad dancer.

“All thanks to Madame Endora’s Dance Studio,” he said softly against her ear.

“What?”

“That’s how I learned. I was ten. I wanted to take martial arts. Unfortunately, the class was full. And my well meaning mother signed me up for dance instead. Madame Endora was a former prima ballerina. Of course, in her older years, she smoked like a fiend and drenched herself in enough cheap Aerilon perfume to nearly make you pass out. But the woman could dance.”

“Madame Endora? You’re making this up.”

“Nope. It’s the absolute truth.” He was suddenly and rather miraculously quiet, giving Laura a chance to really soak in the music. The singer had the kind of dusky caramel colored voice she could get lost in.“You know what I can’t stop thinking about?”

“Whatever it is, you’re going to tell me whether I want to hear or not,” Laura said dryly.

“Music’s not that different, is it? Between these worlds, I mean. Even through all this vast distance. Music. Customs. Dancing.”

Laura stiffened. “No, it’s not. I’m not sure what to make of the similarities.”

“It’s been almost a week, Laura, and you haven’t mentioned going back to the ship. Why -- when you were so adamant about it before?”

She pulled away from him and stepped back. “Because we can’t. What you said earlier about being stuck here….we are. Whatever enabled the Cylons to figure out the fleet’s coordinates and surprise _Colonial One_ could lead them here. If there is some kind of backup means of communication on _Icarus_ , we can’t risk activating it. It could lead them right to this planet. I don’t want that on my conscience. So unless -- by some miracle -- the fleet finds us, we’re not going anywhere.”

Tom didn’t say anything. He just stood and looked at her, meeting her eyes head-on and unflinching. He gave a nod that was so imperceptible she wouldn’t have even noticed it if she hadn’t been gauging his reaction so intently.

“You’re not surprised,” she said softly. She was almost grateful for his neutral reaction. No frightened passengers to soothe. No delegates to win over. No military to fight with. Empty resignation. Maybe that was all either of them had left now.

“Not really. You don’t think I would have brought it up though. Not after the way you were feeling after the crash.”

“Still feeling. And since when is maintaining amicability between us suddenly important to you?”

“We’re all we’ve got left. I’d say it’s in our mutual best interests to work together, wouldn’t you? Anyway, it could be worse.” In a gesture that was almost too smooth, Tom pulled her back into position and resumed their dance. “I could be stranded here with Baltar.”

She tilted her face toward him. “I rate above Baltar?”

He smiled. “By a sizeable margin.”

“You hate Baltar as much as I do. That’s not saying much.”

“All right. Fine. You’re a much better dance partner than our former president would have been.”

“I hope you’re not speaking from experience.”

“Hardly.”

“There’s a lot we have to think about,” said Laura. “We need to -- “

Tom put two fingers against her mouth and Laura stopped speaking mid-sentence, more out of surprise than anything else.

“Can we put it on ice until the morning? Seriously. You add a whole new dimension to the term workaholic. We’re at a dinner party in a luxurious mansion. I spent twenty years in prison and survived New Caprica detention, not to mention hurtling through space to my near death. And these days I don’t get out much. Can I live the fantasy -- for a few hours anyway? I like to recoup my energies in between calamities.”

“You know,” said Laura, “it’s this cavalier attitude of yours that makes me continually doubt your sincerity.”

He beamed at her. “I’m sincere about wanting to relax and have a good time tonight.”

Laura swallowed back the laugh that was rising in her throat. Encouraging Tom Zarek wasn’t a wise idea and she knew it. The corners of her mouth twitched and she angled her face toward the window so he wouldn’t see. As she composed herself, she felt another pang of guilt for the people they’d left behind. They certainly weren’t enjoying dancing, fine wine, and good music.

The song ended and Tom leaned in a little. “Try for another one? Solidify the image of a happy couple?”

“I don’t think we should push our luck,” said Laura.

He released her. “I knew you’d say no. Careful. You’re becoming predictable.” There was an edge in his tone that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. She watched him move toward Jay’s liquor cabinet. He reached for the bottle of soda water but quickly put it down. He poured himself a glass of something that looked like ambrosia instead.

Tom took a slow sip. “Blech. This is awful. You wanna try it?”

“Not after you just told me it was lousy. No.”

“So whom would you choose to be stranded here with if you had the option?”

“That’s a ridiculous question. I wouldn’t choose to be stranded here with anyone, Tom.”

He smirked at her. “Oh, I doubt that.”

“You -- “

The side door opened before Laura could finish her thought and Dennis walked in carrying a small tray. He placed it on the coffee table.

“Mr. Gatsby sends his apologies. He’s been called away on an urgent business matter.”

“Pretty late for business,” murmured Tom.

Laura shot him a look.

“Please enjoy the room and the music as long as you like. I brought you some coffee. If you need anything else, just ring.”

“Thank you, Dennis,” said Laura. She placed a hand on his arm. “Will Daisy be coming back?”

“Mr. Gatsby saw to it she was escorted home.”

“You could stay and have coffee with us,” Laura said with a hopeful smile.

“Oh, no, ma’am. It’s well past my bedtime. Enjoy your evening.”

“Thanks,” said Tom.

They watched Dennis leave. Laura wished he would have stayed, wished that Jay would come back. Even Daisy would almost be a welcome sight. She and Tom were together too much and alone too often. It was...muddling things. Laura wasn’t sure what bothered her more, the way they’d been thrown together -- or the unsettling notion that there were moments when she actually enjoyed his company.

Tom set his drink down on the table without looking at her. “I’ll be up later. I’m going to get out for a bit.”

“Well, good night, then.”

“Night,” said Tom. And he was gone.


End file.
